Long Black Road
by FrankLeroux
Summary: The one that "you send to kill the f***ing boogeyman" wakes up in the future to face the ultimate boogeyman. Somebody PLEASE get this man...a gun! Rated M for language, for sexual situations, and for John Wick shooting lots of things in the face. Set in the same Mass Effect universe as my other story (Tango) but you don't have to read that one to read this one.
1. Resurrection

**_Author's Note: I started writing this before John Wick 2 was released. The in-story lore for John and the Continental is based on the first movie and some of what was in the trailers for JW2. I may add in little bits of flavor from the second movie, but I'm ignoring certain plot complications from JW2. This story is set in the same Mass Effect Universe as my other ME fanfic (Tango 'Til They're Sore), so when you're done with this one you can read that one to find out what happens next. Enjoy!_**

* * *

 _I made a lot of money I was makin' quite a mess  
_ _But they all told me money wouldn't bring me happiness  
_ _"You gotta work like a man in a real man's life  
_ _You're gonna have to take all the trouble and strife"  
_ _You gotta get up in the morning take your heavy load  
_ _And you gotta keep goin' down the long black road_

ELO, "Long Black Road"

* * *

Harold was not prejudiced; he distrusted everybody equally. Even so, he liked working with aliens for the most part. He'd done jobs with turians, salarians, and even an asari or two at one time or another. Therefore, being partnered with a quarian was just another day on the job for him, even if it was the first time he'd ever set eyes on one of the suited-up aliens.

This particular quarian was named Kal'Megan, or at least that was what he'd asked to be called. He was a lot older than the usual quarian, which meant he probably wasn't on his Pilgrimage. Harold knew just enough about quarian society to figure that meant that Kal'Megan had probably been exiled from his fleet.

Harold was just fine with not knowing more. In most of his previous jobs, biographies and proper names were not to be thrown around lightly. His own true name was not actually Harold, but it was at least close enough that he would respond to 'Harold' automatically and easily. He had always been on the thin side, which made him feel some affinity for the similarly scrawny quarian. Even so, he wasn't about to let his guard down and treat the alien like a friend. They had a job to do, and that was all.

"What is this place?" asked Kal'Megan. The quarian looked a little like a study in overkill, since he was wearing disposable yellow overalls on top of his environmental suit. Harold was wearing yellow overalls as well. Their employer had given them the packaged suits and said to use them if needed. And sure enough, they had been needed.

Harold looked around, then consulted the little paper map in his hand. "This is it. Our destination. This should be where the package is." The two of them had descended through multiple levels of subways and sewers to reach this little forgotten side tunnel beneath the streets of Prague. Harold had been impressed with how easily Kal'Megan had navigated the throngs of humans in the streets above without seeming to bump into any of them, and had also been impressed with how the alien had managed to keep up during their descent.

He shone the flashlight around, looking for any obvious doors. Kal'Megan did the same, using a light projected from the helmet of his suit. "Ah!" The quarian sounded pleased. "I think I found it."

'It' was a circular door, just barely visible against the tunnel wall. There was a lot of grime and muck built up over it. Whenever it was last opened had been a long, long time ago. Harold set down his duffel bag full of tools and examined the edges. "Looks like the handle is recessed...wanna give me a hand?"

Fortunately the coveralls had integrated gloves, so the muck didn't get directly onto his hands. The two of them braced their feet against the tunnel wall and tried to pull the door open. After a little bit, there was a protesting groan and the door creaked open slightly. Harold almost expected a puff of foul air from the inside, but instead there was nothing. He looked at the crack and nodded.

"We should be able to get prybars in there." Their mysterious employer had also given them a list of tools that they'd probably need, and prying tools had been at the top of the list. Kal'Megan rummaged through the duffel bag and came up with two prybars. He handed one of them to Harold, and after a few repetitions of prying and resting they'd gotten the door just open enough to squeeze through. Harold suddenly realized that one of the reasons they'd both been chosen was for their slender builds.

"Shall we?" he asked Kal'Megan.

The quarian's silver eyes were just barely visible behind his visor, but Harold could tell they looked amused. "It's your planet. You go first."

* * *

The circular door led to a small cubical antechamber. The walls were lined with what looked like stainless steel. Two recessed bulbs in the ceiling flickered on as they entered, apparently triggered by some sort of motion detector. It was spotless, in stark contrast to the dirty tunnel outside. Kal'Megan looked around in obvious interest. "No dust," he commented. "So the air must be filtered. And they're getting power from somewhere." He regarded his coverall, now thoroughly coated with slime and nastiness from their descent. "I guess we can get rid of these for now."

Harold nodded and stripped off his own coveralls. The quarian followed suit, but managed to get a bit of muck onto one gloved hand during the removal. The alien regarded his hand in mute disgust. Harold smiled. "No worries, mate. I brought some towels, just in case." He had a small pouch at his side, and pulled out a small cloth square. He tossed it to the quarian. "You always have to know where your towel is," he added with a chuckle.

The quarian tilted his head as he cleaned off his hands. "I sense that's supposed to be a joke. Is it a human thing?"

"Sort of. It's from a piece of human literature." Harold then considered the only other exit from the antechamber. This was a larger door that almost looked like it led to a bank vault. It had a large, circular wheel in the center. Beside it was...it couldn't be. "A keypad?" he said aloud. "Just how old _is_ this place, anyway?"

Kal'Megan reached into one of his own side-pouches. "I guess I should open my envelope, then?" They'd each been given one, with specific instructions. At the first impasse, the quarian was to open his envelope. When they reached their destination, Harold was to open his own and much larger envelope.

"Go for it."

Sure enough, the quarian's envelope contained just a small piece of paper with a ten-digit code. Harold carefully tapped it into the keypad and wondered to himself what they could do if the keypad was simply broken due to age. He didn't have to worry. There was a cheerful little 'beep' from the keypad, and a green flash. The door gave a soft clanking noise, and then swung open with a gentle whine of servos.

"I'm guessing this place is at least a hundred years old," said Harold. "Probably older. It's amazing this all still works."

"It was built to last, for sure," said Kal'Megan in an almost hungry tone. "I'd love to get a teardown crew from the Fleet in here to see how they did it." Harold let the mention of the Migrant Fleet pass without probing further.

Cautiously, the two of them moved into the next room. Harold's first impression was that the room was very cold. The decor was...strange. One half of the room was clinical and sterile, lined with tile and occupied with various bits of machinery. The largest of these was a huge horizontal tank that was covered over with condensed frost. The other half of the room was more like the library of some wealthy country gentleman, and consisted of rich wood paneling and leather. A large wooden table and wardrobe were the two main pieces of furniture in this half. Harold walked forward and ran one hand over the table. It was made from real mahogany. The tabletop was a single large piece of it. Harold let out a silent whistle. This table alone could let him live like a king for a year...if he could somehow get it out of here.

The whole room was well-lit and filled with a soft hum. Harold turned his attention to the tank, which was the apparent source of the room's chill. "I'm betting this is our target."

Kal'Megan nodded. "I'm not taking that bet. Should we open your package, then?"

Harold pulled out the bulky manila envelope he'd been given. Upon opening, he found a smaller but still bulky package inside, along with a neatly printed note. The inner package had 'DO NOT OPEN YET' in large letters on its outside. He laid that on the table and read through the note. He could tell that the quarian was dying to know what the letter said, just from the jittery way the alien tapped his foot.

"Well?" said Kal'Megan finally.

"It's instructions for thawing that," replied Harold, and jabbed one thumb at the frosted tank. "Along with a couple of things to say once the occupant is up and about. We're also supposed to give him this." Harold pointed at the envelope on the table.

The quarian stopped tapping his foot. "Occupant? There's somebody in there? Could they still be alive?"

Harold shrugged. "There's one way to find out." He moved over to the tank and found another keypad on its side. He entered the code from his note and was gratified to see 'ACCEPTED' appear on the little display above the keypad. There was a soft whir of fluids moving, but no other sound he could detect.

Meanwhile, Kal'Megan had moved behind him and was examining the other components next to the tank. Harold flinched a little when the quarian opened his omni-tool and began waving it at the various bits of machinery.

"Careful, man!" he said, a little louder than he'd intended. "I don't want you hacking in and messing up the thawing procedure."

Kal'Megan made a placating gesture with his free hand. "I'm only doing passive scans, don't worry. Besides, I think this stuff is way too archaic for me to interface with anyway."

"I hope you're right. I wanna find out who this is." Harold leaned forward and tried to scrub the accumulated ice off of the tank's window. He could just make out a dark form inside. Whether it was human or not he couldn't tell. There also appeared to be some sort of nameplate above the tank's window. The ice on the plate yielded a bit to his removal attempts, although there was still some ice obscuring some of the lettering.

"Bab Ya," he said aloud. "Maybe it's a baby yak?" He laughed at the notion of going to all this trouble to freeze a yak.

"What's a yak?" asked Kal'Megan.

"It's a big Earth animal, sort of like a very hairy cow."

"Ah, I see. What's a cow?"

Harold ignored the question and attacked the nameplate again with his sleeve. The last of the ice finally gave way. "Baba Yaga. What the hell is that?"

Kal'Megan tilted his head as if staring into the distance. Harold figured he was calling up some information and reading it on his visor. "The name Baba Yaga corresponds to a figure from human folklore. It's from a place called Russia, apparently. The tales were of a demonic figure used to frighten children."

"The boogeyman," said Harold, almost to himself. He regarded the dim form in the tank and shuddered. He tried to tell himself it was due to the chill in the room.

"Keelah!" The outburst from the quarian pulled his attention from the tank.

"Problem?"

"No, I was just surprised is all. This thing here-" Kal'Megan indicated a squat cylinder next to the tank, "is a nuclear reactor."

"Shit," said Harold. "Are we in danger? Should we-"

"No, it looks to be well shielded. But the little bit of radiation signature I can pick up...this thing runs on _fissionables_." The quarian sounded as if he'd uncovered a stone axe. "It must be as a backup, in case they lost power down here."

Harold considered for a bit. "Well, that makes this place more than a hundred years old, I guess. Probably closer to one hundred and fifty, maybe?"

A large section of ice slid off of the tank's surface and onto the tiled floor. Harold thought a bit more. "Whoever this is, they predate humanity's first contact. So they're definitely human. And they won't have any translator installed, so they won't understand you. Let me do the talking, okay?"

* * *

John Wick dreamt of swimming in frozen seas. His body was large, coated with protective blubber, and utterly suited for his environment. Hunger churned in his stomach, and he chased the small black winged forms that were his prey. His teeth were large and sharp. The crunch of bones and the coppery taste of their blood in his mouth revitalized him. He was a mighty leopard seal, a dangerous predator...

No. He was a human. The dream drifted away as his memories began to rise. He was not a leopard seal, but he was indeed a dangerous predator. He had survived for decades in an exclusive lifestyle where the average lifespan could be measured in a few years at most. He had killed and kept killing until, out of nowhere, he had found love. But it had not lasted. He had lost that love and then, horribly, he had lost any hope. John had extracted his pound of flesh for the loss of that hope and then somehow kept going. There had been more killing after that. He had never even thought about turning a gun on himself. The world would have to kill him, and he would give it every opportunity to do so.

And yet somehow he kept surviving. He was a man hungry for his own death, but that hunger could not be sated. Then Winston had come to him with a proposition. Dear Winston, who was the closest thing to a friend he had. The man who was the jeweled bearing upon which John's life turned.

The Organization that was behind the Continental Hotel had access to technology far beyond that available to the common man. And John was an asset that was far too valuable to leave banging around on the streets in search of death. In the future, the Organization might have need of him. So he could go into a dreamless sleep until that need came and he would be resurrected. And if he never woke up due to the vagaries of luck, that was not the same as suicide. John's own sense of honor could be maintained.

John had agreed to the procedure. But now he felt irritation. Winston had promised him a dreamless sleep, but here he was dreaming of being a _seal_ of all things. And then he realized that the dream meant he was waking up. Resurrection was at hand. He was cold, but could feel warmth rapidly returning to his body.

There were a couple of nearby voices. He cracked his eyes open and saw vague forms moving near him. He mentally gathered himself and made ready to move.

* * *

Kal'Megan had helped Harold get the human's body onto the table and wrapped up. The nearby cabinet (what Harold had called a 'wardrobe') contained several sets of clothing as well as several large blankets. The wardrobe had been hermetically sealed and filled with inert argon gas, just one more sign of the planned longevity of this bewildering place. From what Kal'Megan had seen, humans simply didn't build to last like this. Once again, he wondered to himself just who was behind this place.

The human they'd pulled out of the tank was now wrapped in one of the blankets from the 'wardrobe'. His eyes were closed, and his face was peaceful and still. There was a fringe of black and neatly-trimmed facial hair on the human's jaw and upper lip. Kal'Megan was still getting used to facial hair. It was one of the few truly unique characteristics of the human race, and it still creeped him out a little bit.

The human's build was rangy and more muscular than his own, or Harold's for that matter. But it was still not as musclebound as the Alliance military types that Kal'Megan had run into previously. The man's back had some human script and patterns etched permanently into his skin. Harold had mentioned that this was called a 'tattoo' and that it wasn't really in fashion anymore.

"So how long should we wait?" he asked Harold.

"Until he wakes up. We're getting paid well to wait," Harold leaned forward and regarded the human from the tank. "Besides, there's a lot I wanna know. Who the hell is this guy? Why go to all this trouble for one man?"

"I would say part of the reason for our payment is to keep our curiosity in check, wouldn't you say?"

"Maybe." Harold straightened up and turned away from the table. "But still-"

The human from the tank moved faster than Kal'Megan would have thought possible. He sat up and wrapped one arm around Harold's neck, then jammed the other behind Harold's head. The slender human gave a startled croak, and from the color his face was turning Kal'Megan figured that he wasn't getting any air. He thought about moving forward to assist his comrade, only to be rooted to the spot by the glare from a pair of dark, almost black eyes.

"Who are you?" rasped the man from the tank. "Where am I?"

"Friends! We're friends!" said Kal'Megan hurriedly. He saw confusion in those dark eyes and realized that, although he had the necessary translator hardware to understand the man's speech, the reverse was not true. He held up his hands and hoped it looked un-threatening.

* * *

The figure before him was clad from head to toe in some sort of close-fitting outfit. At first John thought that this meant that the future had seen some sort of nuclear war. Maybe the suit was to protect against radiation? But then another look at the figure told him that might not be the case. He saw that the figure had three-fingered hands and toes, not to mention knees that bent the wrong way. Whoever this was, they weren't human.

The man whose neck he had a hold of was dressed simply, in pants and a long-sleeved shirt. His captive croaked and feebly tried to pry his arm away from his neck.

"Sl'Sithah! Ne'tata!" said the suited figure. He held up his odd-looking hands higher, as if to emphasize he didn't hold a weapon.

John decided they weren't a threat at the moment, and let go of the man's neck. The man coughed and backed away as if trapped in a cage with a tiger.

"Easy, buddy," said the man. "My name's Harold. This fella here is Kal'Megan. He's a friend. We're both friends, sent to wake you up. I guess."

"You guess? You don't know for sure?" John was not about to take anything at face value.

"We were just told where to go, and we didn't know what to do until we got here. Speaking of which, this is for you." The man held out a thick, sealed envelope.

* * *

Harold watched the man from the tank open the envelope. Inside was what looked like an OSD, which the man regarded with some curiosity. There was also a neatly printed note along with another note that looked much older. The older note was printed on yellowed, almost crumbling paper. The man read through the older note first, and it looked as if he was almost going to weep after finishing it. Then he went over the newer note, and his face became impassive again. He set them all aside.

"It says there should be clothes for me."

"Oh, yeah." Harold indicated the wardrobe. "In there. It all looks to be in order. There's also a case of some sort on the floor."

The man nodded and moved over to the wardrobe. He was seemingly unconcerned about his nudity. From the way the man moved, Harold realized he was lucky to have just a sore neck. This man could have killed him without effort.

"So, ah, what's your name?" he asked, trying to sound casual.

"John." The man pulled out a black suit and laid it on the table. He then retrieved some underclothes and began to dress himself.

Kal'Megan was pressing himself into the far corner as if trying to escape through the wall. "Is he going to kill us? Maybe we should get out of here."

John glanced curiously over at the quarian. Harold decided to step in. "Ah, my friend is just wondering what the note said, is all. We weren't told much, like I said."

"Your friend is alien, I'm assuming?" replied John. He was knotting a black tie into place.

"Um, yeah. I guess you were put under before we found the Mars ruins, and before the First Contact War."

"Hmm. So our first contact with aliens resulted in a war, eh? I see some things never change." John seemed almost amused as he said it.

"The war wasn't with his people!" Harold was desperate to keep things calm. "He's a quarian, we met them after that whole deal. There are a lotta different species running around...shit, I just realized how much you have to get caught up on."

John finished knotting his tie. "I'll find it all out in due course. How do I look?"

"Um, I think you look fine, but I'm not an expert in fashion. We're in kind of a sewer, though. I don't think that suit will be very nice for long."

John smiled and reached into the wardrobe. He pulled out another yellow disposable coverall, just like the ones Harold and Kal'Megan had worn getting in here. "I'll manage."

Harold nodded. "Okay, great. I guess if you don't need us anymore, we can get going?" his voice trailed off hopefully.

John fixed him with a level stare. "Not yet. You still need your payment."

"Payment?" asked Kal'Megan. "We were supposed to get paid the rest when we got back. What is he up to?"

Harold held up a hand to his colleague, hoping to look confident. But the almost robotic look in those black eyes did not fill him with hope. "No worries, Kal. We're all friends here, right?"

John pulled a black case out of the bottom of the wardrobe. He unlatched its lid and swung it up. The lid was facing both Harold and Kal'Megan, and the human couldn't see what was inside the case. John gave Harold one last glance, and then his hand darted like lightning into the case.

Harold thought about throwing himself forward and trying to stop his own death, but somehow he knew that wouldn't help. He flinched as he heard a loud slap. At first, Harold took it for a gunshot. But then he realized that he didn't have a hole in him. John had smacked a black velvet bag onto the surface of the table, and now he pushed it forward towards Harold.

"That's for you," said John. He then pulled another similar bag out of the case and did another smack on the table's surface. "And this is for you," he said to Kal'Megan, and pushed the second bag in the quarian's direction.

Harold took his bag with shaking fingers and opened it. There were ten coins inside. They were ornately carved in an unfamiliar pattern, and made of a dense yellow metal that could only be...

"Gold," said Kal'Megan, who had also opened his bag. "These are solid gold!"

John smiled. "I don't need a translation to know what he just said." The dark-haired human nodded at them both in an amiable manner. "This is a bonus, in addition to your agreed-upon payment. When you both get back, you'll get the rest of your payment in standard credits. But these..." he indicated the two bags. "I highly recommend you keep them. They are worth far more than just their metal content."

"What can you buy with these?" asked Harold.

John's smile faded. "Death. You can buy death with these. Now if you'll excuse me, I have someone to see."


	2. Education

Prague itself had not changed all that much. John figured that the city had maintained its identity for a few hundred years before his own time, so another hundred and fifty or so wouldn't really matter to it. The one big change was a complete lack of cars. Instead, the sky overhead sometimes contained flocks of small sleek capsules that sped through the air with faint whirring noises.

The streets were now only filled with foot traffic. And here was the largest change. John was able to keep his face impassive, but inside he was gawking like a tourist. New forms moved through the human throng. There were blue hairless women, there were smaller amphibian forms, and a pair of tall bird-like aliens that looked almost as if they were armor-plated. He surreptitiously kept an eye on the latter while he passed them; he could definitely tell they were military just from their bearing.

John drew a few curious glances as he walked along. From what he could see of the men in the streets, his own suit was very archaic in style. Ties were nowhere to be seen, and had appparently been replaced with Mandarin collars. He figured it was one more thing he could remedy once he was able to get settled and find his bearings.

Fortunately, the street patterns were unchanged enough that he was able to find his destination. The Hotel Metropol was much smaller than the Continental in New York, but it was equally as elegant. He regarded its ornate yellow-gold exterior with some relief. It looked almost as it had the last time he'd seen it.

The interior was also more or less the same in terms of decor. It was perhaps a little more streamlined, and had obviously been updated since his last visit. But the layout was still as he remembered. The major change was behind the reservations desk. One of the blue aliens stood there and gave him a gentle smile as he walked up. She spoke a short stream of liquid-sounding syllables that he couldn't hope to understand.

John gave an embarrassed smile back and indicated his ear. "I'm sorry, I hope you can understand me. My translator unit went bad on me." From what Harold and his alien friend had told him, translators were ubiquitous. Claiming not to have one would be very unusual.

The alien woman nodded. "I...do speak a leetle English. You hear me okay?" She spoke with an odd lilting accent.

John nodded in relief. "Yes, I do. I'd like a room, please. There should be a reservation for me under the name of Winston."

She smiled wider. Now that he was this close to one of them, John could see the differences between her and a human. The most obvious was the skin color and lack of hair. In place of a human's tresses, the alien had multiple fleshy tendrils that swept down her scalp and off the back of her neck. Her ears were much more streamlined and almost invisible against her head. And her eyes were an unearthly violet color. There was also a pleasant and subtle floral scent from her, although John couldn't tell if that was her natural odor or some sort of perfume. John also realized that he wasn't entirely sure if she was a _she_. The alien had the same swell in her chest as with a human female, but that could be from a completely different anatomical feature. He couldn't assume anything, not until he knew more.

The blue woman waved her hand next to her, and an orange display formed in the air. She made a few gestures at it, almost as if she was tapping on keys. "Yes, name is here. How you pay?"

"I was hoping to pay cash," said John as he slid two gold coins across the desk towards her.

The alien's face froze momentarily, then relaxed again. "My apologies, sir." Her accent was now completely gone. "I didn't realize you were a previous guest of the hotel. I didn't recognize you."

"That's quite all right. I haven't been here in quite a while," replied John.

She made a quick motion with one hand, and the coins were gone. "I see. In that case, may I suggest the Presidential Suite on the top floor? It has the best view."

"That would be excellent."

"And I'll have a bottle sent up, if you like."

"That would be even better. Thank you."

She touched a few more areas on her display. "Do you have any luggage you wish brought up?"

John lifted the case he'd taken from the wardrobe. "No, just this. Thanks again."

The alien gave him a slight bow. "You are very welcome, sir."

* * *

The Presidential Suite lived up to its name. And true to her word, right after John had taken stock of the rooms there had been a knock at the door. He opened it to admit a human pushing a cart. The cart did not contain champagne as he expected; instead there were several whiskey tumblers and a crystal decanter filled with a dark brown liquid. John made a mental note to tip the concierge extra for this.

When he was alone again, he poured himself a generous shot and walked over to the largest window of the suite. It was indeed a gorgeous view, and he took in the still-familiar panorama of the rooftops of Prague as he sipped. The bourbon was very good; as it burned in his throat he felt himself relax a bit. The second note in his package had emphasized that the old ways still held. He was now on sacred ground, and no one could attack him without triggering dire consequences.

Then John Wick laughed aloud. "Aliens," he said to the empty room. "Fucking _aliens_. Damn. I didn't see that one coming." He smiled sadly as he thought of Helen, who would have reacted to the news like a little kid. She would have been practically bouncing off of the walls. Between the two of them, she had always been the dreamer and the optimist. She had always been looking up. And now humanity knew there were others up there looking down, others just like them.

"You would have fit right in here, Helen," he said aloud, and toasted the air with his glass. He chuckled. "And Winston, you old goat. What would you have said?"

Winston would have raised one perfectly manicured eyebrow at the news and then kept right on going about his business. The man had been completely unflappable. John looked out the window and remembered the words from the yellowed note he'd been given. He had memorized them after a single glance, and even now they burned in his mind.

 _John. I hope you never read this, because it means you've been pulled back into the world. For some reason, I find it comforting to think of you sleeping peacefully until the end of time. We both know there are much worse ways to die. I'm now facing one of them. The doctors tell me it's pancreatic cancer, a very aggressive case of it. They didn't catch it in time. I have probably three months at best before I depart. I almost had you reactivated just to tell you in person, but they said that once you were awake it would be too dangerous to put you back under. This note will have to suffice. Just know that you are one of the few people I would call a friend, and that I will miss you. I am not a religious man, but in a way I hope I am wrong about that. It would be good to see you once more, when we both reach the end of time. W._

He finished his drink just as there was a soft knock at the door. John turned to face it. Automatically, he noted the distance to the door as well as the nearest three areas that gave the best concealment. "It's open."

The first man through the door was huge. He probably was at least twice John's own weight, and most of that was muscle. Again automatically, John flicked his eyes over the man and noted weak points. Knees, temple, throat. The man moved fractionally more slowly on his left side, so the left knee would be the most optimal point of attack should it come to that. The big man nodded in a comradely fashion at John and moved to one side. Following him was a much older woman who somehow reminded John of a librarian he'd known in childhood.

She was human, and her complexion was dark and olive-colored. John figured her for an Indian, although she wore no caste mark that he could see. The woman had deep laugh-lines around her eyes and mouth. The most dramatic feature of her face was her left eye, which was silver and clearly artificial. There were several small scars around that side of her face, apparently from the same injury that had robbed her of her eye. The woman's right leg was also apparently injured, judging by the way she favored it. She stumped cheerfully into the room using a slim wooden cane to support herself. Under her left shoulder she carried a paper folder.

"Thank you, Jackson," she said to the large man, who nodded and gently closed the door behind her. He took up position near the door and waited. John had the impression that Jackson would wait until the hotel fell down if he was asked to.

"Mr. Wick," said the woman in obvious pleasure. "I am happy to meet you at last." Her accent was melodic and faintly British. She shifted her cane to her left hand and extended her right. Then she gave John a firm and quick handshake. She looked him up and down, almost like someone appraising a newly bought racehorse. "Yes, very happy," she repeated, then indicated one of the nearby chairs. "You will forgive me if I sit? My joints aren't what they used to be."

"Of course, please do," replied John. He walked over to the cart and poured himself another drink. "Would you care for some?"

The woman eased herself into a chair. "I would love a drink, thank you." She set her folder onto the large table in front of her. Then she placed her cane between her feet and laced her fingers together over its top.

John poured another glass, then looked over at the bodyguard. "And you?"

The huge man smiled. "I'm on duty, sir. But thanks for asking."

John carried both glasses over and handed one to his visitor. He sat in a nearby chair and waited for her to speak.

She looked at him a bit more. "My name is Mrs. Carmichael. I wish there was a more genteel way to say it, but I sort of inherited you. Just as my predecessor inherited you from Winston."

"I received Winston's note," said John. "Thank you for that. Your own note was a little vague."

Mrs. Carmichael nodded. "There have been many times over the years when the Organization wanted to reactivate you. But we always faced the same question; was the particular crisis desperate _enough_? You were our most valuable ace in the hole, and we had to be sure that playing you was worth it. And now I'm sure. We have just had a new account opened, and you are the only one we trust to execute it."

John sipped a little of his drink. "I'm surprised my reputation is still that high. Quite frankly, given how long it's been I'm sure my skills are well out of date."

She made a dismissive gesture with one brown and wrinkled hand. "Not as much as you'd think. And skills are not only what I'm looking for. If all I wanted was to bust some heads, I can get fifteen ex-military here within twelve hours. All of 'em hard cases who eat lightning and crap thunder. No, what I need is someone with judgement coupled with absolute will and determination. Someone who will do whatever is necessary and who will not hesitate in the slightest." Mrs. Carmichael peered closely at him. "Someone who I know will not scare easily. And someone who, conveniently, has no current file with any law enforcement."

Inwardly, John was relieved. He was afraid that he'd been brought back just to settle some tedious mob war, but it didn't sound like it. "So who opened the account? I'm assuming not the Organization."

Mrs. Carmichael smiled. "No, we didn't. We still mostly act as mediators and information brokers. Although we have grown in size since you went to sleep. The world has become much bigger, as I'm sure you've noticed."

"The new concierge was a hint," said John dryly.

"Persephone is a treasure, and we're lucky to have retained her services. That's not her real name, of course. And don't let her youthful looks fool you. She's older than you by a good hundred years, and that includes the time you spent asleep."

He took another sip to mask his surprise. "Who is the account for?"

"A person in Barcelona." Mrs. Carmichael leaned back. "And it's not a standard account. We have been tasked with retrieval, not retirement. The subject has information that the account holder needs." She indicated the folder on the table. "It's all in there. And this is an open-ended account, so once this task is complete there will be other assignments."

John didn't bother to ask again who had opened the account. He would surely find out in due course. "I'm assuming this person in Barcelona is well guarded?"

"Well enough. I don't think it will pose much of a challenge to you, so consider it a warm-up exercise. Speaking of which, how do you feel?"

He flexed the fingers on his free hand. "Better than expected, considering I was a popsicle less than six hours ago. I'm probably at about seventy percent effectiveness at the moment."

Mrs. Carmichael nodded. "That is good. Besides recuperation, you need re-equipping. You'll need new weapons, clothes, identities, a good omni-tool. Plus a translator module and the standard military physical upgrades. We can have the hotel's doctor come and set you up with the last two items. For the rest, there are several shops I can recommend."

"I also need education," replied John. "I can't just go barging in somewhere and act like usual. Like you said, the world has changed."

"We have a contact in Barcelona who will help you with any necessary intelligence gathering. There is an element of urgency to the account, but we can certainly afford a few days for you to get your feet back under you." Mrs. Carmichael stood with apparent effort, using her cane to lever herself up. John stood as well, and shook her hand again.

"Welcome back to the world, Mr. Wick," she said.

* * *

The man stood at a window in a small bedroom. His hands were clasped behind his back, and only the tension in his hands betrayed his inner nervousness. Even though he wore plain civilian clothes, he had a definite military bearing to go with his impassive and craggy countenance. Apart from his white goatee and pale gray eyes, his most obvious facial feature was a large healed scar that wandered over one side of his face.

He turned as Mrs. Carmichael came into the room with her steady and limping gait.

"He seems to be adapting well," he said to her in a pleasant and rasping voice. "I don't think I would be as laid-back as him if I were in his shoes."

"You have a life, Mr. Beckett." That was not his real name, of course. And he knew that she knew exactly who he was. The pseudonym was a polite fiction that they kept out of respect for each other. "You have people who care about you, and vice versa. If you were be uprooted like he was, you would feel their absence." She tapped her cane absently on the floor. "But John Wick did not have a life, not really. Not by the time he agreed to be put under."

"And you trust him." He didn't quite make it a question. "You know who and what we're facing. I hope you know what you're doing. I've made no secret of my desperation."

"I know, dear. You wouldn't be consorting with an old crook like me if you weren't out of other options."

'Beckett' turned away, his face still troubled. "Still, I was hoping to have more support from your people. Why only one man?"

"One person who is armed with true purpose and standing in the right place can be worth an army. You know that very well. And John needed purpose, not just a job. In a way, I'm grateful to you. You have provided him with something to live for, even if he doesn't know it yet. Besides, it's the best way to keep our...collaboration quiet. If his face gets fed into some image-recognition VI somewhere, they won't be able to match it to anyone in your group or in mine."

'Beckett' nodded. "I will trust your judgement for the moment. I just don't like putting all of my faith in one man." He looked down. "I did that once before, and then he went and got himself killed."

* * *

Persephone visited John's suite soon after Mrs. Carmichael had departed. Following close behind her was one of the amphibian-like aliens. "Mr. Winston, this is Doctor Jelan. He's with the hotel. I was asked to accompany him and aid in translation, at least until your...defective unit is fixed." Her deep violet eyes looked amused, and John figured that his little white lie had been discovered.

Jelan blinked his huge eyes at John and nodded a greeting. He moved an ottoman into the center of the main room and waved toward it with one hand. He began speaking to Persephone in a fast, rolling language that reminded John of Russian.

"He would like to begin with the translator unit," said the blue alien. "Please have a seat." John did so, and felt a gentle prodding behind one ear from Jelan's fingers. The doctor leaned in and made a little surprised hum. He rattled off some words to Persephone, who responded with her own liquid language. John figured he had said something like _He's got no translator unit!_ and that Persephone had responded with something like _Just forget it and give him a new one._

"You will feel a little pinch, just behind your ear." Persephone tapped the side of her own head. "The unit itself will anchor below the skin." John heard a slight clink and felt a quick jab. The pain faded quickly, and then he felt a cool gel being applied to the same area.

"The medi-gel will prevent scarring," said Persephone. Jelan moved in front of John and touched one of his forearms. A glowing orange sleeve of controls appeared, and the alien made several quick gestures. He then nodded in satisfaction and began speaking.

"Sledona aslath hoslena nyrath kulaob three. Repeat, testing one two three. It looks like the unit is interfacing properly with your aural nerves. Can you understand me?"

The effect was amazing and seamless. John nodded and smiled in relief. "Yes, I can understand you just fine."

"Lovely!" said Jelan. He turned and nodded to Persephone. "Thank you, madam. I think we are all set here."

Persephone gave them both a little nod. It could have been John's imagination, but it seemed as if she held his gaze for fractionally longer than she did for Jelan. She turned and sashayed out of the room. John took his time to admire the close-fitting red dress she wore, and then reluctantly turned his attention back to the doctor. Jelan was laying out several vials of clear liquid on the central table.

"You were interested in physical upgrades?" asked the doctor.

John stood and regarded the clear vials with some trepidation. "Perhaps. I at least wanted to know what my options were."

Jelan smiled in an almost human manner. "Options, we have! Now, this first one is the standard Alliance military upgrade for humans. It boosts the immune system, aids in healing and reduces the formation of scar tissue and plaque in the joints. It also keeps subcutaneous fat from accumulating. Reflexes are improved, and of course there is also a boost to muscular strength. The average strength increase is usually around fifty to sixty percent more than an unmodified human."

"How do these enhancements...work?"

If Jelan was surprised at the basic question, he made no sign of it. "They're all based on retrovirus DNA therapy, modified to use the CRISPR methodology. Just a few intramuscular injections are needed, no boosters or anything else. It takes a few days for the DNA rewriting to finish, but you'll be fully functional during that time. Some report mild flu-like symptoms, but those fade quickly."

John nodded. He was a little surprised that cybernetic enhancement wasn't more common; based on what he'd seen so far, it appeared that they were only used in case of injury. "Let's see what else is on the menu."

"Certainly. This next one is a modified version of the standard military upgrade. The primary difference is in strength. The boost is around one hundred twenty percent over unmodified, but it also causes a substantial increase in muscle mass in order to provide the increased strength. This one tends to be popular with bodyguards and the like."

John briefly considered it, then dismissed that as an option. One of his strengths in his chosen profession was his ability to blend into a crowd, and he couldn't do that while looking like the Hulk. "And this one?"

"That one's popular with professional athletes. The healing ability is increased significantly over the standard upgrade. Your reflexes can also be 'overclocked' for short intervals which gives you a sense of slowed time. It also strengthens the tendons and ligaments and shifts their anchoring to more optimal locations. The strength increase is marginal, but that's partially compensated by the improved leverage you get from the ligament shifts."

Jelan stepped back. "So, those are the standard modifications available. Do any of these interest you?"

He rubbed the side of his face as he considered. "How obvious are the tendon changes in that last one?"

The doctor shrugged. "You would look normal in clothes. But in a situation with no shirt, say, then the modifications will be apparent."

That nixed that option. Above all, John wanted to keep on looking unobtrusive. "I'm leaning towards the first option. But you also said 'standard'. Do you have some non-standard enhancements available?"

Jelan gave him a sidelong look. "Actually...I do have one other. But it is still experimental." He set the final vial on the table. "This has much the same boosts as with the standard military upgrade, although the improvements in reflexes are better than in the standard. The most significant difference is that this one has nanotechnology elements added which weave carbon nanotube filaments directly into the bone. By the time it's all done, your bones will be nanotube composites with incredible tensile strength. They'll be effectively unbreakable. Your ligaments and joint cartilage will also undergo a similar process. You might still be able to get a sprain or tendon tear, but you would have to really work for it."

"That sounds intriguing." John had broken enough bones in his life to know he would rather not do it again. "Just how experimental is it?"

"It's in Phase Three testing with the Alliance. In the short term, say over a few years, it's perfectly safe. But over decades? They don't know. Your bone marrow should be unaffected, but there could be a risk of anemia later in life. Also longer-term joint issues such as early-onset arthritis may arise."

John thought a little more. Well, he hadn't figured on dying in bed anyways. "Let's go with the experimental one."

Jelan nodded. "Certainly. If you would please take off your shirt?"

* * *

John's suit turned out to be even more of a museum piece that he had originally thought. Upon visiting the tailor and undressing, the man had discreetly asked just how attached John was to his old outfit. The tailor apparently knew of some collectors of antique clothes who would pay top dollar for an old suit in such good condition. John had smiled and told the man to go ahead and keep the proceeds as a tip.

"What sort of a break would you like?" said the tailor from down around John's ankles. John looked up in the multi-sided mirror facing him and pictured his options.

"No break."

"Very good, sir." The tailor stood and ran a tape measure across John's back. He was glad to see that some things were still done manually.

"Have you made a choice of material, sir?"

"Wool. The standard weight cloth, I think. I'll need two complete outfits in black, and one in navy blue."

"Certainly. What sort of lining would you prefer?"

John met the man's eyes in the mirror. "Tactical."

The tailor nodded. "Purely passive or active protection?"

"Active for one of the black and for the navy blue, and passive for the other black." He assumed 'active' was some kind of shielding mechanism, but that in turn implied some kind of power source which could be detected. He wanted to keep his options open.

"Very good, sir. Now as to shoes and shirts..."

* * *

John wore one of his new black suits back to the Hotel Metropol. Persephone gave him a quick once-over and nodded her approval as he strolled up to her desk. "I was wondering if you could help me," he said. "Do you have some free time when you go off shift?"

She raised one eyebrow. "Sir, I'm afraid that fraternization with guests is not permitted."

He smiled. "I hope you will forgive me, but that's not what I was asking about. As you may have guessed, I'm a little...rusty about certain things. I need help accessing the Extranet. Just to get started, you understand."

John had been able to get through the suit fitting without much trouble. But from the little bits he'd gleaned, weapon technology had changed significantly since his day. He needed to do quite a bit of research before buying any guns.

The alien (whose race was apparently called an _asari_ ) inclined her head. "I can help you with that, sir. If you can promise that my virtue is not in jeopardy." Her tone was arch.

"You are quite safe with me, I assure you."

* * *

Persephone admitted to herself that she was very intrigued by 'Mr. Winston'. Her position had brought her into contact with a wide variety of dangerous people, and at first the human had seemed no different than any other similar 'patrons' of the hotel. He had the usual habit of never leaving his eyes to settle in one place; he always seemed to be scanning everywhere. The man also moved with the fluid grace of someone who had honed his body into a weapon. All of that was normal in her world.

The archaic oddities were what caught her eye. He appeared to be well known in the Organization, and was apparently some sort of trusted _confidante_ of Mrs. Carmichael. But his original suit had been very outdated; she was pretty sure that ties hadn't been worn for at least fifty years. And he had never had a translator installed. For someone in his line of work, it would be impossible for him to function without one. And now he needed help with something a child should be able to do.

She mentally shut away her interest as she knocked on the door to the Presidential Suite. Persephone was paid very well to _not_ be interested.

'Winston' answered the door in a black dress shirt and trousers. He waved her in with a small smile. "Thanks for coming. I appreciate the courtesy, it's a little embarrassing..."

Persephone returned his smile. "It's no problem, Mr. Winston. We are well known for our courtesy as well as our discretion." She walked over to an ornate wooden desk along one wall of the main room. "I believe you have a standard terminal here." She turned and saw that 'Winston' was still standing next to the door. She waved him over. "It's better if you do it while I guide you. Don't worry, sir, your virtue is safe with me."

'Winston' laughed and walked over beside her. She indicated the desk surface. "Just place your hand palm out above it. That will activate the terminal."

He did so and was rewarded with an orange glowing rectangle. She spent the next few minutes showing him how to call up a keyboard, how to initiate a connection to the Extranet, and some of the basic search options. He picked up the concepts readily, but physically he fumbled about. It was almost as if he'd never used a holographic display at all.

Of course, the instruction gave her plenty of opportunities to grasp his hand, to lean over his shoulder, to gently correct his actions. 'Winston' smelled of clean soap and nothing else. Persephone also found herself becoming intrigued with the neatly trimmed facial hair he wore. She got a crazy notion that she wanted to run her fingers through it, and also through the thicker black hair that adorned his head.

After a little while, she grudgingly leaned back from him. "That should be enough to get you started." She took a half a step back, but was still in his personal space. He gave her a long look, almost as if weighing something in his mind.

"Will there be anything else, sir?" Now she was really treading on thin ice. It wouldn't be exactly grounds for dismissal if things became physical. But she would be in for a long tongue-lashing from Mrs. Carmichael for her lack of control. Right now, she didn't care.

'Winston' suddenly straightened. "Actually, I just realized something." He walked away with purpose into the bedroom and returned with the black briefcase he'd been carrying when she had first seen him. "I'm an idiot," he continued. "I completely forgot about this." He snapped the case latches open and lifted its lid.

Inside the case lid hung a slim silver bracelet along with a couple of cloth collars. There were metal bangles hanging off of the collars, but Persephone couldn't see exactly what they were. An OSD lay below them in the box, and 'Winston' lifted it out. She froze in amazement when she realized what was under the disc. There were rows upon rows of stacked gold coins, nestled neatly in foam cutouts.

"I completely forgot I had this," he continued, and gave a little chuckle. "It's been a busy day, you know? I need to see what's on here."

That many coins...her head spun. This man was not just a senior member in the Organization. He must be one of its very top operatives. And yet he had no translator? No notion of how to work basic computer interfaces? Just who in the name of the Goddess _was_ this person?

Persephone carefully kept any shock off of her face, and took the OSD from his hands. "Of course!" she said with hopefully sincere-looking smile. "You touch this icon to access the reader..."

A port silently lifted up out of the desk. She gently inserted the OSD into it, then turned towards him. His face was dangerously close to hers. She was suddenly very aware of just how black his eyes were, and could feel his warm breath on her face.

"You've been very kind, Persephone," he said. "Kinder than I deserve."

She gave a ghost of a laugh. "Sir, I assure you that you have been nothing but a perfect gentleman." She paused and decided to go for it. "Although, if you wanted to not be-"

"What are you doing, John?" said an unfamiliar female voice.

They both turned in surprise. The terminal's screen showed a human female. Persephone could tell that she was beautiful, with long flowing brown hair that looked exotic and alien. The woman was turned half away from the camera as if embarrassed.

"I'm looking at you," said the voice of 'Winston' from offscreen.

Now the woman looked directly at the camera, with an exasperated but loving look. It was as if she was looking directly at the two of them. In the suite, 'Winston' looked down and then back up at the screen. His dark eyes were now slightly wet.

Persephone moved a little back from him. The spell of the moment had been broken. Although she wanted nothing more than to give him comfort, she also knew that he was not in a good frame of mind for that right now.

"Goodnight, sir," she said softly, and walked out of the suite. She glanced back once as she left, and saw 'Winston' lift one hand and move it forward as if to touch the image of the woman on the screen.


	3. Recognition

The next day didn't start out well. After getting over the shock of seeing Helen's face again, John had busied himself with finding out all about weapons technology as well as getting a rough outline of the last few thousand years of galactic history. He didn't get to sleep until very early morning and then woke up around noon feeling like he'd been beaten soundly with baseball bats.

John eased himself out of bed and tried not to moan as he stumbled for the bathroom. After relieving himself he realized that, what with everything that went on yesterday, he hadn't eaten at all since munching on a few ration bars after being defrosted. On top of the enhancement busily working away inside him, it was no wonder that he felt like hammered shit.

He ordered enough food for three people from room service. John wolfed down the meal and began to feel better. He neatly stacked the plates outside his door and returned to his research. It was not until late afternoon that he felt knowledgeable enough to try a visit to the armorer.

Persephone wasn't behind the front desk. Instead, there was a plump human male with receding hair. John exchanged nods with him as he walked out of the hotel. He was both relieved and disappointed that the asari wasn't there. She had clearly been interested in him last night, and from his reading it appeared it wasn't at all unusual for her species to 'consort' with other races. Indeed, it appeared to be the expected thing in their culture. But he couldn't reciprocate her interest.

He knew his reluctance wasn't due to Helen. Above all, she would want him to be happy. It was more because of Viggo's words during their face-off in the church.

 _People don't change. You know that. In the end, we are all rewarded for our misdeeds. Which is why God took your wife, and unleashed you upon me. This life follows you. It infects you._

John had left Viggo choking in his own blood not long after that little speech, but he had to admit the old Russian bastard had spoken the absolute and honest truth.

* * *

"We recommend Armax Arsenal, sir. They seem to give our clientele the best performance and reliability." The armorer opened a few cases. "We have a pistols of various sizes. If you are looking for something with more punch or range, we also have an excellent selection of machine pistols, rifles, and shotguns available."

John leaned over the cases spread out on the counter. He examined one of the pistols with interest. The notion of 'calibers' or indeed standard ammunition was now gone; modern weapons used mass effect fields to fire tiny slivers of metal at terrifying speed to achieve the same impact as a standard bullet. Guns now had effectively unlimited ammunition, save for the need to get rid of the incredible amounts of heat generated during firing.

"Let's stay with the pistols for now," he said to the armorer. He tapped a mid-sized pistol that should be easy enough to conceal. "Do you have a testing range in the shop for trying this out?"

"Of course, sir. This way."

The entire basement of the shop was a firing range. The light was cold and antiseptic, in stark contrast to the warm and welcoming shop upstairs. John didn't see any ear protection available, and he hoped it wasn't needed. He settled himself in position and raised the pistol at the target at the range's far end. The first shot was much more muted than he had expected; it was a flat cracking noise that almost sounded like a suppressed 'normal' gun. That explained the lack of hearing protection. Other than that difference, the pistol's mechanics appeared to be just as he was used to. He placed a few more shots into the target to make sure he had his eye in.

"This will do nicely." The armorer looked pleased as John continued. "Now let's look at what else you have available..."

The next couple of hours passed in a pleasant whirl of testing and choosing. John eventually settled on one main and one smaller holdout pistol, along with an assault rifle and a machine pistol for more firepower should he need it. The assault rifle was something he really delighted in. When unused, it folded itself into a neat little package that could easily be stowed in a standard briefcase or even tucked under an armpit if necessary. It was a lot less bulky that it had any right to be given its hitting power. And there was another surprise towards the end.

"I'll need something for close-in work," said John. "What do you have in knives?" In response, the man opened up another, flatter case. It unfolded into several smaller trays, almost like a fisherman's tackle box.

"Most of these have the standard ceramic edge with metal backing. We have purely metal blades as well, if you like. All are in a variety of shapes and sizes, depending on your preferences."

John picked up a double-sided dagger that was close enough to what he liked to use. He flipped it back and forth in his hand to get a feel for its balance. "I like this one. I'll get two while I'm at it."

"Certainly." The armorer hesitated. "Actually, in addition to these we have one other blade available. It may cause...complications with law enforcement, however. And you would need to replace your omni-tool."

That sounded just fine to John, since he didn't have an omni-tool to start with. "It could be something to consider. Please, show me."

In response, the armorer touched his forearm and brought up his own omni-tool. Then he carefully pointed his hand away and clenched his fist in a particular manner. A glowing blade shot out of the end of the omni-tool and projected out over his hand. It looked almost like a large punch-dagger.

"The blade isn't real, of course," said the armorer. "The true cutting edge is a monomolecular filament suspended in a mass effect field. It's pretty much invisible. The hologram is just there to let the user know where the edge actually is." He reached over and picked up one of the physical knives with his free hand. Then he waved the glowing dagger right through the metal blade, which obligingly fell apart. He relaxed his knife-hand and the holographic weapon disappeared. John picked up one of the pieces of the knife. The edge where the weapon had been cut looked almost as if it had been polished.

The armorer smiled at John's look of amazement. "Just be warned, sir. It's very unusual, very illegal, and _very_ dangerous."

"I'll bet. Dangerous to the user as well as to the enemy."

"Absolutely. You could cut off one of your fingers with the blade and not realize it until you slipped in the blood." The armorer held up one hand and wiggled his pinky with a rueful smile. "I know. I had to get this one reattached."

In spite of the danger, John was interested. This had definite possibilities, both as a weapon of last resort as well as a tool with unique abilities. "I'll take it. Along with the other two knives as well. Ah, can you also show me how to set up the omni-tool?"

* * *

John did manage to run into Persephone once more as he was leaving for Barcelona. She was at her usual place behind the front desk and gave him a smile as he walked past. She didn't look angry or regretful, which he was grateful for. He stopped, and told himself to at least say _something_. The woman deserved more than just a casual nod.

He set his now-expanded luggage down before the desk. "Thank you again, Persephone. You have been very helpful." John paused, at a loss as to what to say to a petite and beautiful alien woman with cheekbones that could cut glass. "I hope we meet again." He almost wanted to say something else, but what could he say? That he was a cursed bastard who tended to get everyone around him killed? That he couldn't let anyone into his life, no matter how much he wanted to?

Persephone smiled warmly. "I am sure we will, sir. We believe that all is one, all is part of eternity. We have met, and therefore we will always meet. So may you find peace in eternity." From her formal manner, it sounded almost like she was giving him a benediction.

All he could do in return was give her an embarrassed smile and a nod, pick up his bags, and head out the door.

* * *

Air travel had become much more civilized. It was pretty much just a matter of renting a longer-range aircar and telling it where to go. John leaned back in his chair and idly glanced out the window at the Mediterranean rolling by below. He then pulled out the dossier and began reading through the information provided by Mrs. Carmichael.

Nathan Prasad was a prodigy. He was a near genius-level polymath with primary interests in the areas of information analysis and artificial intelligence. From what John had gathered, AI research was one of the few research areas that the Galactic Council really put their foot (or claw, or whatever) down on. But there were a few licensed AIs floating around, carefully monitored and controlled, and Prasad worked on one of them for some outfit called Synthetic Insights, Ltd. His official job title and duties at SI had seemed deliberately vague. John figured that meant that Prasad actually worked for some intelligence agency, maybe even for the Alliance.

Whoever he had worked for, Prasad had now gone rogue and was apparently holed up in Barcelona. There was some sort of auction that was to be held in four days time where he was going to sell off his knowledge to the highest bidder. The account holder had tasked Organization management (and therefore John) with retrieving Prasad before that auction could take place.

John rubbed his ear as he thought further on the identity of whomever had opened the account. It could be someone who didn't want to pay for the information at auction... that was unlikely, given how much money they had used to open the account. But maybe they wanted something surer than an auction? Or maybe they were Prasad's original employers trying to get their wayward employee back.

For once, he wished that things weren't quite so compartmentalized by Management. It would be good to know just _whose_ hands he'd be dumping Prasad into. Once upon a time, he would not have given it a second thought. But that was before he'd met Helen. And before Daisy.

To distract himself from further dark thoughts, he looked back up at the front of the aircar. There was a control yoke and several pedals visible, but he realized that if the autopilot failed he had no idea at all how to operate this vehicle. John sighed. It was just one more thing he had to learn at some point.

As to the matter of who had opened the account for Prasad, he decided that he would at least interrogate the man after retrieval and get his side of the story before throwing him to the wolves.

* * *

The Basilica of the Sagrada Familia had actually been completed during his long sleep. John had been there many years ago as part of the honeymoon he'd taken with Helen. At that time, the landmark cathedral had been maybe three-quarters complete. But now the grand entrance was done and the massive, almost organic-looking spire representing the Holy Son rose into the heavens. He took a moment to look it over while he stood on the wide, sweeping staircase up leading to the main doors.

Of course, some things hadn't changed. It still cost to get in, but he paid without complaint. The interior had been pretty much finished when he'd last visited, and it still looked much the same. Gaudi's branching and forest-like columns rose up to support the cream-colored ceiling far overhead. The sun was setting, and shone red through the west-facing stained glass windows. It was less crowded that he had expected, although there were still little gaggles of tourists making their way through the vast space. Some of the groups were human, some were definitely not. Each of the groups was led by a bored human tour guide, who pointed out the various features of the architecture as they went through their little litany. John could almost recite it by heart. He could also remember Helen's face when they had visited. He remembered her looking around and laughing in delight at the wonderfully rococo details.

"Hey. You Winston?" The voice was high-pitched and throaty.

John turned to regard the questioner. He..no, maybe she...was about a head shorter than John. They wore tight-fitting leather trousers and a flowing pirate-style purple blouse that looked like silk. They had spiked ash-blond hair and a had generously applied eyeliner. The person also had a slim and androgynous face and figure, so much so that John had to take another quick peek at the crotch of the leather trousers to confirm that 'they' was definitely a _he_. The newcomer winked at John; he'd apparently caught the extra look.

John met his contact's friendly brown eyes. "Yeah, that's me. Are you Smith?"

"Mackenzie Smith, at yer service. But you can call me Mackie. All my friends do."

John smiled. "So we're friends now?"

"Everybody's my friend, some of 'em just don't know it yet. Besides, with the amount I'm gettin' paid, we can go get married if you want." Mackie gave him another wink. "That is, if you swing that way."

"I'm flattered, but I'm also straight."

"So am I. Straight back to my place. You wanna go?"

John didn't reply and instead looked above the main entrance to the basilica. There was the angular bronze figure of an armored human standing above the doorway. He regarded the statue in silence for a bit until Mackie broke into his reverie.

"You know, I never did the touristy stuff around here. Who is that?" He pointed at the statue.

John gave Mackie a sideways glance. "That is Saint George. He's the patron saint of Catalonia."

"Oh yeah? What's his claim to fame?"

"He killed a dragon."

"How excitingly masculine of him." Mackie gave him a once-over. "Do you always dress like an undertaker?"

"Only when meeting new friends, Mackie."

"Wow, that doesn't sound ominous _at all_. So you wanna get this show on the road or what?"

John turned to face him. "Let's not talk here. We need privacy."

Mackie gave a grin. "I'll bet we do, sugar." The smile then fell off of his face. "Oh, shit."

John followed his glance towards one of the other doorways. Among the milling tourists were two men he immediately pegged as potential threats. One was a smaller, scowling man who was bald and looked like he'd just drunk a cup of lemon juice. The other was much larger and definitely the muscle for the sour-faced man. He turned back to Mackie. "Are they going to be a problem?"

"Nothin' I can't handle. Look, you tell me the hotel you're staying at. I'll meet you there. Once I've ditched those two jackoffs."

* * *

Mackie didn't know exactly what to make of the tall bearded stiff who dressed all in black. The man seemed polite enough, but Mackie had a pretty good notion of who was paying for his services. If 'Mr. Winston' was one of _them,_ then that politeness was just a smiling mask stretched over the face of a demon.

He sighed. The amount of money getting thrown his way was enough to allay his fears, even though it meant that Karl was now on his ass. The nasty-faced fucker seemed to think that he was owed preferential treatment, no matter how many times Mackie had told him to get in line like everybody else and wait his turn for service.

The streets of Barcelona were getting more crowded right now, but Mackie slipped himself easily through the throng. He'd been here long enough to get a good sense of how to move without drawing attention to himself. Mackie froze as he rounded one of the curving parts of _La Rambla_. Ahead of him was the man-mountain that was Karl's bodyguard. The huge man was facing the other way, and all Mackie could see was his sloping back. His figured his luck was holding as he eased himself into a side alley. He paced along, hoping that this wouldn't delay his scheduled meeting with 'Mr. Winston' too much.

And then, of course, as he came around the corner of another alley intersection he saw Karl right in front of him. The bald fucker gave him a nasty smile and beckoned him forward with one finger. Mackie glanced behind him and saw that, _of course_ , the huge bodyguard was now standing in his only escape route. He glanced back over Karl's shoulder and saw that there wasn't anybody else in view. Mackie walked forward and smiled as he tried to act casual.

"Hey, man," he said to Karl. "Don't worry. I told ya, I'm in the middle of something else-"

His world spun and he suddenly felt the taste of blood in his mouth. Karl's goon had casually smashed him into the brick wall next to Karl.

"Somethin' else?" said Karl, in a high and mocking tone. "You got somethin' else goin' on? I got a crew twiddlin' their thumbs, you fairy. I told ya, I gotta have those alarm system details toot sweet. The job is goin' down on Thursday. And here it is Sunday, which makes it _how_ many days, Renton?"

"Five days," said the muscle in a voice that sounded like it came from hell's basement. He had stood back after his initial attack, and now seemed to be placidly awaiting orders to dispense further nastiness.

"Five days from now," continued Karl, "My boys need time to plan. And I haven't seen shit from your little bitch ass."

Mackie rolled himself around, leaning against the brick wall for support. He ran his tongue around the inside of his mouth. At least the big bastard hadn't loosened any teeth. "I'm an independent contractor. You know that. I have a rush job I'm working on. I'll get you what you need in plenty of time. You just need to wait a bit-"

Karl leaned forward, and Mackie got a good whiff of his halitosis. "Just. Wait?" Mackie didn't respond, and Karl snorted. "You're MY bitch, you fucking faggot. When it comes to sucking dicks, mine comes first. Don't you ever forget that. I don't care who else hires you-"

"Excuse me." It was a calm and deliberate voice. It almost sounded like its owner was going to ask for a cup of sugar. Mackie glanced to the side and saw 'Winston', the stiff in the black suit from the basilica. He stood next to Karl's goon and smiled at them all like he was some kind of game show host. Mackie was bewildered. Where had that fucker _come_ from? It was like he had just appeared there.

"I don't think you're being quite fair to him, sir." continued 'Winston'. "I think we can all-"

Karl's pistol was suddenly out and pressed against the forehead of the man in black. "Is this him, my little 'Mackie'? Is this your 'something else' who's taken your time from me-"

'Winston' slapped Karl's gun away and put two bullets into his chest. In the meantime, Karl's goon was desperately trying to pull his own weapon free, and got it clear just in time to receive two chest shots of his own. The man in black then spun and put two more through Karl's brainpan, spraying red gore over the brick wall next to Mackie. He then casually turned and surveyed the rest of the alley as Mackie hugged the wall in pure fear. There was no one else in the alley, and there was no sound save for the choking whimper of Karl's bodyguard. The goon was slumped against the alley wall next to Mackie, looking down in horror at the spreading red stain on his shirt. The man in black didn't even look as he put two final shots into the goon's head.

It was the most cold-blooded execution that Mackie had ever seen. He gripped the brick wall with his fingertips and tried to breathe. Somehow he knew that he would be next to die. He'd seen too much, he was about to get shot in the head-

"Mackie," said the man in black. The young man snapped his head up to meet the eyes of 'Winston'. The eyes were dark, but not unkind. "Are you hurt?"

The young man shook his head, and the simple action helped him start to get his equilibrium back. "It's nothing. Bit my lip a little, that's all. Thanks for...Jesus Tap-Dancing Fucking _Christ_. Sorry, just gimme a minute."

"Are these two going to be missed?" 'Winston' was back to scanning the alley, probably looking for other possible witnesses, but he also appeared to be noting the blood stains on either side of Mackie.

Mackie thought it through, and began to feel more like his old self. "Karl did protection-racket shakedowns, mostly. He was trying to branch out into robbery. His 'clients' sure as shit won't care that he's gone. The only one who'll care is Benton...that's the asshole that Karl was paying tribute to. He's a lot further up the food chain." He pushed himself off of the wall and was pleased that his knees didn't buckle. But then he froze again as he looked down at the bodies on either side of him. "Yeah, Benton is definitely going to shit bricks about this."

"Just breathe, Mackie. I can't have you passing out on me." The man in black sounded almost amused. "How far is your apartment?"

"About..about a ten minute walk."

"Go there now. Don't run, but don't dawdle. Gather everything you can't live without, and don't take more than thirty minutes doing it. You can never go back to your place afterwards, you understand? After you get your things, head over to my hotel. We'll plan our next steps there. Don't worry about anything else, just keep moving."

"Okay," said Mackie, feeling a little like he was on automatic pilot. He walked off on slightly shaky legs as he heard 'Winston' make a call behind him.

"Hello? Yes, this is Winston. I need a dinner reservation for two. Standard place settings, a little extra cleaning may be required..."

* * *

Mackie set his backpack down and looked around in envy at John's hotel suite. "I guess I'm moving up in the world. This place is bigger than my apartment."

John shrugged. "It will do." Unfortunately, this wasn't a hotel owned by the Organization. As extensive as they were, they didn't have hotels _everywhere_. But at least they did have cleaning crews everywhere.

"Um, so, about Karl and Renton. Did anyone find them yet?"

"Nope. And no one ever will. As far as anyone knows, they just dropped off the face of the earth. It's time to get to work."

Mackie looked relieved yet frightened. "I see. Right. Thanks, Mr. Winston."

"Call me John. I think we're past formalities, don't you?"

"If you say so...John." Mackie opened his pack and pulled out a datapad. "Here you go." He held it out to John, who took it with some relief as he sat on the large couch in the suite's main room. He was still getting used to holographic displays, and having something tactile to operate was a nice break. However, he realized that he wasn't sure which file icon was the one he should start with.

"Maybe you should walk me through it."

Mackie didn't show any outward surprise as he sat next to John. He noticed that the young man made sure there was plenty of space between them as he reached over and called up the first file.

"Okay, so your wayward egghead is holding his auction in the evening, four days from now." The first picture was of Nathan Prasad. It had apparently taken as the man was getting into an air taxi. He was of average build, and clearly had a little bit of spread around his middle. Prasad also had a mop of untidy brown hair and a hunted look in his eyes.

Mackie continued. "He got here ten days ago. Then six days ago word went out about the auction. No details on the information he's selling, but given his line of work there wasn't really a need to."

"I didn't realize AI research was that sought after. My understanding was that the Council banned it."

The young man snorted. "It's not about his official research, it's about who he's really working for. If you dig even a little bit, you realize that he's a spook. It's just a question of who he's a spook for. I'm sure he's got lots of juicy little secrets in that noggin. Based on how much interest there is, I guess everybody else thinks that too."

"Do we have an idea on who's bidding?"

"The batarians seem to have a real hard-on for him. I know there's a small delegation here in Barcelona. Not actual batarians, of course, but some nasty types who are speaking for the Hegemony. The four-eyes probably hope he's an Alliance intel weenie. The other heavy hitter I know of is Cerberus."

"Cerberus...I'm not familiar with them."

"Reeeally. I'm surprised. They're...well, terrorists is what they're officially tagged as. Cerberus would say they're fighting for humanity against the alien menace, or some shit like that."

"It sounds like they have deep pockets, if they're bidding against the batarian government."

"They do like to throw money around, for sure. There's a couple of other information brokers who will certainly be there, but it's really going to boil down to a bidding war between the Batarian Hegemony and Cerberus."

John leaned back and began scanning through the other files. "What do you have on the auction itself? Is it online?"

"Nope, it will be a strictly meatspace affair." Mackie reached over and called up another file. The next picture was of a heavyset, almost toad-like man with short hair and jowls that spilled over his collar. "This is the guy who's acting as the auctioneer. Larson Benton. He's also the one Karl was paying tribute to. I have to warn ya, Benton is a real piece of work. He makes Karl look like an angel."

John studied the face for a bit. "I'm assuming that you haven't been able to locate Prasad himself."

"Yeah, I tried. But, wherever he's stashed his ass, he's got himself good and hid. He's not coming up for air until the auction."

"So our play has to be during the auction itself. Do we have an idea of where it'll take place?"

"I've got it narrowed down to a couple of nightclubs that Benton runs. They both have extensive basement areas for 'private entertainment' and such. The layouts and security details are all there for both places."

Mackie leaned back as John kept reading. Finally he looked up. "Good work, Mackie. This is very thorough."

"Your people paid for the best." It looked like Mackie was going to say something else, but he got up off of the couch.

"So that's my bit done," he continued. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I gotta go run for my life. I hear Poland is nice this time of year. You think that would that be far enough?"

"Not yet. I still need your services." John was making a list on a sheet of paper as he spoke.

"Mr. Winston, or whoever the hell you are, get one thing straight. I was only paid to get you what's on that datapad. If you need a couple of clarifications or whatnot, then I'll help with that. But I already had a pretty good idea of who you work for. After that shit went down in the alley, I'm damn near certain. And I want no part of whatever you're gonna do, starting sixty seconds from now."

"You'll be well paid, I assure you."

"Sugar, you are adorable. Normally, I'd want nothing more than to hang out with you in your hotel room and paint your toenails and earn some cash. Money does give me a warm and fuzzy feeling. But so does breathing." Mackie put his hands on his hips and glared. For a moment, John was reminded of a young David Bowie. "Benton _will_ find out that Karl was using my services, if he doesn't know already. Sooner or later he's gonna ask me where the hell his little bald piece of shit got to, and he won't ask nicely."

"I do need your help, though." John tried to look desperate. With a little bit of surprise, he realized that he actually was. "I'm...not very good at this tech. And I don't know people in this city. We're going to need at least one other person for this. If this was a simple retirement, I could probably pull it off by myself. But this is more complicated."

Mackie rubbed his forehead. "And if I say no?" He sounded forlorn, like he already knew the answer.

"Then I'll ask you to give me a list of people who can help me, and show you to the door."

"Really? You'll just let me go? Unless 'show me to the door' is a euphemism for..." Mackie pointed a finger at his own head, mimicking a pistol.

John stood. "No, it isn't. You can trust me, Mackie. If you stay, I'll do my best to protect you."

Mackie looked around, almost as if looking for another opinion. "I do owe you a solid for helping out in that alley. Karl was gonna give me at least a good ass-kicking. And sometimes he could get carried away. I heard he killed a couple people by accident." He sighed. "I should get my head examined, but okay. I'll stay and give you a hand. On one condition, no more bullshit between us. You're one of _them_ , aren't you?"

"Them?" John felt a little ghost of amusement. Apparently the Organization had managed to keep up its reputation in the underworld.

"You know, the...the people who use the coins."

He paused a bit, then figured that Mackie wouldn't believe him even if he denied it. "Yes, I am one of them. Is that a problem?"

"Not really, it's just...good to know for certain." He took a deep breath. "Okay. So what do you need?"

John handed him the handwritten list. "We need this. Or as much of it as we can get together in the next twenty-four hours."

Mackie looked it over and let out a silent whistle. "Are we going to war or something?"

"After that, we need to hire a driver. Somebody who is reliable. We need to have that set up within the next thirty-six hours."

He was pleased to see Mackie's face relax. Now that he had a task, the young fixer was all business. "Yeah, I got a couple of leads on that last one. With this short of a notice, though...it won't be cheap. I figure I'll need about a hundred grand to get somebody good."

While Mackie was speaking, John had opened one of his cases. He pulled out a credit chit and slapped it into Mackie's hand. "Here's two hundred grand. Get me somebody _really_ good."

Mackie stared at the chit in his hand with a dazed look. "Just like that?"

John gave him a little grin. " _Sugar_ , I am on an expense account that would blow your fucking _mind_."

The young man laughed, and relaxed even more. "Yeah, I'll bet. Okay, if we're throwing this kind of cash around I know exactly who to go to. I'll work on that, plus getting the other stuff." He paused a bit. "Do we have a plan? Or do we just smash our way in and grab the dude?"

"That's not my first choice of strategy. It'll be too well guarded. I'm sure the other bidders have thought about doing a smash-and-grab as well. So Benton's people will be scanning for weapons, not to mention that at the first sign of a problem our target will vanish again. No, we have to get into that auction by pretending to be an interested bidder. But I can't pass as an information broker." He regarded Mackie a little bit. "Does Benton know you personally? I mean, did you ever do work for him or his men?"

Mackie shrugged. "A little here and there. We never met face-to-face. Am I gonna pretend to be a broker?"

"This close to the auction...probably not. We'd need to not only set up an identity, but also a reputation. They're not going to let just anybody in there." John thought some more. "I have an idea, but I'm going to need to call it in to make sure Management is okay with it."

"And what if they are?"

"Then we get to find out if you clean up nicely."

"Hey man, I don't know if you noticed? I'm _already_ drop-dead gorgeous."


	4. Extraction

Mackie turned the heavy gold coin over in his fingers. "Wow. I heard lots of stories about these. I always thought they were bullshit. And now I'm holding one." He looked at one side, which showed a lady holding a shield. At the top was a Latin phrase. "Ex Unitate Vires," he said aloud. Living in Barcelona had exposed him to enough culture to have picked up a smattering of Latin. If nothing else, it was useful for impressing the lads. "From Unity, Strength." The other side showed a lion and another little bit of Latin. "Ens Causa Sui. Something holding itself? No, that's not it."

"Being Its Own Cause," said John from the bathroom. The bathroom door was open, and Mackie looked over and saw that the assassin had taken his shirt off. He was carefully shaving around his beard. It was apparently Latin phrase day, because there was another bit of Latin tattooed on John's back along with an image of folded hands and a cross.

"Fortis Fortuna Adiuvat," said Mackie. "That one I've heard before. Fortune Favors the Bold. Is that your people's motto?"

"Not exactly," replied John. "That's the motto of a group I started out with a long time ago."

Mackie watched John through the door. Ordinarily, the sight of a man's well-muscled back would have given him all sorts of exciting thoughts. If that had been anybody else, he would have gone into the bathroom to 'get a tissue' or use some other pretext. He would make sure to 'accidentally' brush one hand over that lovely back. And if there was a friendly reception to the touch, maybe fun times would result.

But not this time. This was not some cute older guy he'd met at random. This was John, one of _them_. Mackie still wasn't over what had happened in the alley. The violence wasn't what bothered him. He'd seen his share of pain and blood. What ate at him was the casual and robotic way that John had done it. It had been so automatic, and afterward he'd acted like it was no big deal. It was like he had been checking his email. Mackie had been sleeping on the suite's couch since his arrival, and he was just fine with that. He wasn't about to try romancing the Angel of Death.

Mackie rolled the coin over his knuckles, which was another little trick he'd learned to impress the lads. "So why did you give me one of these? Am I a part of your exclusive club now?"

John came out of the bathroom as he dried his face with a towel. The front view of his bare torso made Mackie groan inside. Angel of Death or not, teasing him like that was just plain _cruel_.

"We need to make a modification of that coin," said John. "I got the go-ahead from Management for our approach. Actually, it's not so much a modification as...let me start at the beginning."

* * *

John was pretty pleased with how Mackie had turned out, although he was getting a little annoyed with his fidgeting. "Do you not like it?"

"It's fine," said the young fixer. After a whirlwind fitting and makeover session, Mackie now had a nice new suit. His blond hair was still spiked but much shorter, and the eyeliner was now a little less liberally applied. He'd put up with all of that without complaint. Where Mackie had put his foot down was in the choice of suit color. He was _not_ , he said, going to look like some sort of goddamn funeral director. Black was right out. After much consideration, Mackie had eventually found a soft burgundy shade that he liked. He'd even gotten a vest in the same color.

John looked up from the sofa. He was going back over the layouts of the two clubs. "Yeah, as long as you don't mind being mistaken for the Joker in the right light."

"Who the fuck is the Joker? Nevermind, I'm sure it's some kind of old guy reference. The suit's great. I like how it looks, its just...why am I wearing this _now_? The shindig's a day from now." He plucked at the suit's fabric. "I'm just not used to wearing something that's this layered, you know?"

"That's why you're wearing it now. You have to get used to it. By the time the auction rolls around, I need you to be walking through that club like you've worn a suit your whole life. Now stop twitching around and let's go over the plan again."

* * *

Club Lethe wound up being the location of the auction. Mackie had narrowed it down to between that or The Pantheon Lounge, and his sources had finally gotten it completely figured out with less than twelve hours to go. Fortunately, Lethe was the better of the two locations for their needs. It was closer to the sewers, for one thing.

Mackie was now very glad that he was wearing a coverall. He just wished he had a mask as well to keep out the smells. He sloshed up to John, who was putting together a map of the underground tunnels in his omni-tool. "That's it, man. I got all the stuff in place and we're ready to roll."

"You're sure?"

"Hey, my shapely ass is gonna be on the line too. Don't worry, it's all set."

* * *

The ground floor of Club Lethe was filled with strobing amber lights that gave John brief glimpses of writhing patrons. He slipped himself through the dancers and could feel Mackie close on his heels. Fortunately the fixer seemed to be just as adept at navigating crowded spaces, and had no problems in keeping up. He could also see Mackie surreptitiously leaving little packages behind as they moved. John had to admit that the young man was really good; the only reason John caught him was because he knew that Mackie was doing it.

The door to Club Lethe's basement was flanked by two large men in ill-fitting tuxedos. They eyed John and Mackie as they came strolling up. One of them held up a hand, and the other dropped one hand to his side a little too casually. John was sure they both had concealed weapons.

"Sorry, gentlemen," said the one holding up his hand. He had to practially yell to be heard over the thumping music that filled the club. "The basement bar is closed. Private function tonight."

"We know," Mackie replied. He was somehow able to sound casual even though he was yelling. "We're part of it."

The man gave him an exasperated look. "Sir, neither of you are on the guest list."

Mackie smiled. "We're not, but we're sure they'll want us to join." He pointed his thumb over his shoulder at John. Slowly, so as not to spook the man or his partner, John brought up his hand and showed them the gold coin that he held in his palm. The two guards visibly paled.

Mackie folded his hands in front of him and waited while John stood behind him. The two guards looked at each other, clearly out of their element. Finally Mackie crossed his arms and looked mildly peeved. "So? Can we at least go in and talk to them?"

"Talk?" echoed one of the guards. He was staring at John like he'd just seen Bigfoot. John gave him Smile Number Twelve, which was his _Hey, I'm just a harmless fella_ smile.

Mackie waved a languid arm. "Yeah, talk. Don't worry, gentlemen. If they don't want to have us join in the festivities, we'll just turn around and head back out. Sound good?"

"Um, yeah. Good." One of the guards opened the door to let them through. As soon as the door shut behind them, the music was instantly muffled into near silence. Benton must have had some really good sound insulation installed, which John was glad for. It would keep the patrons upstairs from panicking once the gunfire started.

There was a steep set of stairs beyond the door, which led down to a small square room. An officious-looking woman sat at a desk in its center. Her hair was pulled back in a severely tight bun. Flanking her were two more guards. At least these two seemed to have better dress sense; their tuxedos actually fit well. John also noted that they clearly wore pistols under their armpits.

The woman frowned. "My apologies, gentlemen. I don't recognize either of you, and this event is not for the general public."

John stepped forward. "We only found out about this event at the last minute. We were hoping your boss would make an exception for us."

The woman leaned back. "There is a substantial deposit required to join. Are you willing to put one down?"

In response, John carefully laid the gold coin on her desk. The woman regarded it for a long moment and steepled her fingers. She looked at the two of them for another long moment. To their credit, the two guards seemed unperturbed by the appearance of the coin.

Finally she spoke. "I have to clear this with my superior. I hope you understand. Would you gentlemen mind waiting here?" She stood and picked up the coin.

"We don't mind at all," replied Mackie. He gave her a winning smile. "Take your time."

* * *

Benton regarded the coin as if somebody had taken a messy shit on his table. "Really? They just walked up and plonked this in front of you?"

"Yes, sir," replied the woman. She stood in front of his booth with her hands folded. "I know we were not planning on anybody else joining, but I thought you should know of this."

"Yeah, yeah." Benton shrugged off the blonde woman leaning against his shoulder and wheezed as he leaned forward. He plucked the coin off of the table and regarded it with a half-frown. This auction was his chance to break out into the big leagues. He was going to be finally noticed by fucking _governments_. And now this had turned up. The chance to interact with the Organization would be another big win. But if they lost the auction, it could turn into a big pain in the ass depending on how pissed off they were.

He turned the coin over and looked at the its back, then hefted it in his palm. Something stunk about this. These guys were big fans of hiding the shadows and pulling strings behind the scenes. For two of them to just waltz in like it was no big deal? Benton knew he had to be careful.

"Let 'em in. But give 'em a really good frisk and scan, you got it? Get a few photos of 'em and do a face image search. I wanna make sure they're who they say they are. Once they get in here, keep a double-sharp eye on 'em." He threw the coin back on the table and pointed at it with a sausage-like finger. "And have a good look at that, too."

* * *

John was pretty impressed with the frisking. He had gone through it enough times to have become a connoisseur. This particular one was thorough and professional, with minimal groping. The woman stood nearby, clearly ready to sound the alarm if something went wrong. He almost expected Mackie to make some kind of quip like 'buy me a drink first' while being searched, but he followed John's lead and didn't say a word.

"We also have to do a scan for weapons and personal shielding devices," she said. "I hope you understand. We have to ensure your protection as well as that of the other patrons."

"Of course," replied John. The scanner looked more or less like a metal detector from his time, although John was sure it was a lot more sophisticated than that. Mackie went through first without any incident. Then John through it and waited. This was the tricky part of the plan. If his particular weapon was detected, then it would turn bloody more quickly than he'd planned.

But the woman nodded and seemed satisfied. "There will be a brief speech by Mr. Benton in thirty minutes," she said. "The auction proper will begin ten minutes after that. Feel free to talk with the others, but we recommend that you do not supply any personal information or discuss the auction in any way."

"I agree," replied John. "We have to be careful, after all."

The main room was large and had several tiers that dropped progressively lower. Each tier was separated by low railings. There was a stage at the far end, currently occupied by a beautiful asian woman who was singing in a odd, ululating style that John couldn't place. Along the left wall of the room was a little alcove containing a large semicircular booth. The booth was currently occupied with a large pile of flesh in a suit that looked like Benton, along with two blonde women in slinky black dresses who looked like they would really rather not be there. The right side of the room was occupied with a large and ornate bar made out of what looked like marble. There was not much in the way of cover. That would make this harder, but not impossible.

John looked back towards the singer. The melody was not what he was used to, but it was somehow captivating. "What is that?" he asked Mackie, pointing at the stage.

"That's what we call a 'woman'. Don't they have those where you come from?" Mackie's eyes twinkled as John gave an exasperated snort. "It's asari opera," he continued. "Don't ask me which particular one, though. I don't go in for that highbrow music stuff." Mackie looked around the space. "It's less crowded than I expected. What do we do until Benton's speech?"

"We mingle. Just small talk, like the lady said. Count guards and note if they are patrolling or have set locations. Meet over by the bar in fifteen."

Mackie nodded and moved off. Apart from the multiple tuxedo-clad guards, the room had several small clumps of people in formal wear. Presumably they were the various factions here to bid. Five women in short skirts and black halter tops moved through the room, each balancing a tray on their hands and offering drinks to the clientele. John nodded and smiled at one of them as she walked past. Inside, however, he was groaning. Having civilians around always made these things more complicated.

John also took note of the posture and location of the guards. They all appeared to carry their weapon in the same location. That was good, it would make his plan that much easier.

He wanted to get a drink, but also knew he had to be careful. He had to keep sharp for the upcoming unpleasantness. John would never admit it to Mackie, but he was a little worried about himself. The killing of Karl and his goon in the alley had been a simple matter of eight shots, not a prolonged gun battle. His instincts had been ingrained while using gunpowder-based weaponry. If he paused in the middle of a firefight to reload a magazine that wasn't actually there, then he would get himself shot in the head. John had come up with a mantra that he kept repeating to himself. _Treat the thermal clip like a magazine, treat the thermal clip like a magazine..._

"Sir?" It was the officious-looking woman who had overseen their search. "Mr. Benton sends his compliments and would like to speak with you briefly, if you have a moment."

"Of course," replied John. He followed her over to the little alcove.

* * *

"A gin and tonic please, love," said Mackie as he smiled at the bartender. She smiled back and quickly made his drink. He turned and leaned on the bar. Mackie hoped he looked casual enough. He took a little sip and was suitably impressed with the drink's quality. But he didn't dare drink a lot. John had been really, really insistent that he be careful about alcohol consumption. This whole thing would require good timing, and he couldn't afford to be even slightly buzzed.

He felt rather than saw somebody else settle on the bar next to him and mimic his casual posture. "Hey there." The newcomer's voice was low and casual. It sounded almost like a stage whisper.

Mackie turned his head. The man was about his height and clean shaven, with long black hair that reminded him a little of John's haircut. His body was lean, and even through the dark blue suit that he wore Mackie could see the hint of wiry muscles. It was just the type of physique that really got Mackie's motor running. But any pleasant thoughts of seduction died when Mackie finally looked at the man's eyes. Mackie had heard the term 'shark-like eyes' before and dismissed it as dramatic nonsense. But not now. This man had dark eyes with literally no depth to them. They may as well have made of glass, for all that Mackie could see in them.

The man smiled, but his eyes never changed. "My name's Leng. Kai Leng. What's yours?"

Mackie nodded cordially. "I'm Charon. Just Charon."

"I see. You and your friend have become the talk of the auction, you know."

"We just got here five minutes ago."

"Gossip is the fastest known force in the universe. Is it true that you're with a certain organization which shall remain nameless?"

Mackie took a larger slug of his drink, and didn't say anything. He tried to relax, but feeling those empty eyes on him made it difficult.

Leng gave a soft hum. "You know, silence implies consent in a court of law. I have to say I'm surprised. Your organization isn't known for participating in things like this. At least not directly."

Mackie decided to at least respond a bit. "Times change, Mr. Leng."

"They do. Indeed they do."

* * *

"Heya!" said Benton to John in a cheerful voice. Then he dropped his voice and growled at one of the blondes sitting next to him. "Scram, Alice. Give the man a place to sit. Don't go too far." The woman eased herself out of the circular booth and gave John a little bit of an eyeroll as she walked past. He smiled back in sympathy and settled himself in her place.

"So whattya drinking?" Benton snapped his fingers, and one of the waitresses appeared. "The man is dry!" he said as if she was personally at fault. "Get him a..."

"Just a bourbon with no ice, thanks."

"Yeah, and make it top shelf stuff!" added Benton as she walked off. He turned and regarded John with eyes that were almost hidden behind his jowls. "I gotta confess, you two gave me a real shock when you turned up. So your, ah, people are interested in getting in on this?"

"They are." John's drink arrived. He could feel Benton's eyes on him as he picked it up.

Benton leaned forward a little. "This is kinda unusual for you guys, ain't it? I mean, you'd be more likely to be arranging something like this auction rather than bidding in it."

"Management doesn't tell us everything. But they do always talk about diversifying."

"Gotcha. Hope you don't mind me asking. We're all friends here, right?" The man seemed far too jovial. John was sure the gangster was at least suspicious.

His drink arrived, and he took a sip to keep his hands from fidgeting. "I think we certainly can be," he said to Benton. "No matter how this particular auction turns out I believe we can do business in the future."

Benton nodded, and the action caused several rolls of flesh on his neck to wobble in time with the nod. "Hey, I'm always on the lookout for more business partners. Like you said, always gotta diversify."

* * *

Mackie was really glad to see John again. Leng had apparently decided to be his shadow, and had installed himself on the bar next to him. Ordinarily, Mackie would be flattered but he was pretty sure Leng was trying to rattle him. Leng had also been joined by somebody else, a much bigger guy who hadn't said anything to Mackie even when spoken to. He'd just given Mackie a look like the fixer was a bug he couldn't be bothered to step on.

"Hi, Winston," he said to John. "This is Mr. Leng."

He watched John shake hands with Leng. It almost looked like they were going to throw down right there, but the handshake stayed cordial as they regarded each other. Leng pointed next to him with his thumb. "This is Mr. Kelso, he's an associate of mine." Kelso did a very brief head movement that might be generously called a nod, but again said nothing.

"So," continued Leng in an oddly bright tone, "I'll show you mine, if you show me yours."

"Beg pardon?" John looked amused rather than confused.

"We're with Cerberus," replied Leng. "You know that, or you will within five minutes after leaving here. And you're with the Organization. I always thought that was a rather pedestrian name. Even if people pronounce it with a capital letter."

John regarded his drink and didn't look at Leng. "We've been around a long time. It's kind of like registering a domain name on the Internet, right? We were the first to claim it."

Leng tilted his head. "What a charmingly archaic way to put it. I do have to admit, I always liked your group's style. Your use of those coins is inspired."

"How so?" asked Mackie. He suddenly realized he'd somehow gone through half his drink. It was very good gin that they had used, and he could feel a little buzz in the back of his head from it.

Leng indicated a group of humans nearer the stage. "See them? They're the Batarian representatives." His eyes narrowed with hate, and it was the first real emotion Mackie had seen from the man. "Humans, representing a species that would quite cheerfully enslave the lot of humanity if given half a chance. They are traitors to their own kind. And for what? For credits."

"They're not the first," continued Mackie. "Money does make the world go 'round, after all."

Leng seemed more animated now. "I'm not talking about money, I'm talking about _credits_. They're just electronic abstractions. The closest you can get to a physical representation of credits is when you hold a chit, and that's just a little wafer of electronics." He looked at both of them in turn. "But your group? You use something with weight and substance. If you're going to sell your soul, you may as well do it for something that you can touch, right?"

John gave Leng a long look. "I'm glad you approve." John nodded at Leng and walked off without saying anything further. Kelso peeled off of the bar, apparently to follow John. Leng was left alone with Mackie, who downed the rest of his drink and signaled the bartender. If he had to deal with this dead-eyed bastard, he decided that he would need a lot more alcohol.

"I'll have another one, love. Oh, and...if you'd be so kind as to leave the bottle." He slipped her a credit chit and winked at her.

* * *

"Good evenin', ladies and gentlemen," said Benton. He'd shooed the singer off of the stage, which John thought was a pity. He would much rather have looked at her than at Benton. The gangster looked like a pile of guts in a suit.

"I appreciate your interest," continued Benton. "There is only one item we are bidding on this evening, and here it is." He stepped to one side and made a grand sweeping gesture towards the middle of the stage.

A transparent cylinder rose out of the floor. Inside it was Nathan Prasad. He was dressed in simple clothes which had streaks of blood here and there on them. His face was bruised and cut. He was curled up on the floor of the cylinder. As it came to a stop he looked up and out at the club with hopeless eyes.

John felt a little click in his brain, then he relaxed. Their intel had been faulty. The auction was not for Prasad's secrets, it was for Prasad himself. The man was a prisoner. While that made this all cleaner from a moral standpoint, it also made it harder because they now had to break him out of that cell. He glanced over at Mackie, who was still leaning against the bar. John frowned a little when he saw the bottle between him and Leng.

He crossed his arms and gently tapped three fingers on the bicep that faced Mackie. The young man rubbed his chin, which meant that he'd caught the signal to go to option three. At least he wasn't blind drunk. John shifted his attention back to the stage.

"Now," said Benton, "this here is one Mr. Prasad. He's worked with Synthetic Insights for a while, but his real job is with Alliance intelligence as a data analyst. We got that much out of him, at least. Coulda got more, but I didn't want to damage the merchandise." Benton slapped the side of the cylinder and Prasad flinched from the impact. "The real beauty of it is, this guy's got a graybox. A perfect computer-enhanced memory, chock full of all the stuff he's worked on over the years."

John could see the rest of the bidders become very interested at that last part.

Benton smiled at the increased buzz in the room and grasped his lapels. "Let's go over the rules. Bidding starts in ten minutes. Miss Herndon will act as auctioneer." He nodded at the officious-looking woman, who stood at the far left side of the stage. "You all paid a deposit to get in here, and we assume you're good for your bids. We want the instant transfer of funds after the auction concludes. Once we've got the money in hand, the winning bidder gets the package." He gave the tube another slap, and Prasad gave another twitch. "After that, what you do to get the info out of him is up to you." He gave a little bow and waddled back off of the stage.

John took a deep breath and began to think very quickly through his actions over the next few minutes. He glanced around and realized he didn't see Kelso, the other Cerberus operative.

* * *

As Benton settled his bulk back into his booth, Miss Herndon approached. She had a slight frown on her face. "Yeah?" he snapped at her. In spite of his confidence on stage, Benton was going to be glad to get this whole thing over with.

"It concerns Mr. Winston and Mr. Charon." She glanced at the woman sitting next to him. Benton sighed and pointed, not even bothering to tell her to scram. The woman eased herself out of the booth, and Miss Herndon took her place.

"Yeah. Whaddya got?"

"Mr. Winston's face has no match with any known operatives with the Organization. Mr. Charon, on the other hand, _does_ have a face match with one Mackenzie Smith. He's known to be a fixer and broker of sorts in the city. Competent, but he tends to be more street-level than the average information broker. The most damning part is...that coin they gave us? It's counterfeit. A gold coating over lead."

Benton ground his teeth as he looked across the room at the young man leaning on the bar. He definitely looked drunk and was even swaying a bit. The smaller Cerberus guy was parked at his elbow.

"That little fucker," said Benton. "I bet he's trying to break into the big leagues. Trying to scam me. Did you get ahold of anybody in the Organization?"

Miss Herndon shook her head. "Not directly. But I do know one person who's worked with them. They didn't recognize either Winston or Smith. And they said there's no way an Organization representative would try using a fake coin."

Benton blew a little breath out of his nose, like a bull getting ready to charge. "So we can skin 'em alive, no problem. That little shit looks half-wasted. Probably pissing himself already. He's no threat. Just get one of our guys near him and tell him to wait for my signal."

"Of course sir. And what about Mr. Winston?"

"I want you to get Mr. Winston or whoever the hell he is over here. With four guys on him. I wanna interview that shithead and find out what they're up to."

Miss Herndon nodded and left. Benton checked under his jacket to make sure that his gun and his favorite knife was there. He'd used the knife a little on Prasad while softening him up, and he was looking forward to going even further on 'Winston'. The bastard was going to have a beautiful new face by the time he was done.

* * *

John saw Miss Herndon talking with the mob boss and then saw Benton's face darken as he looked over at Mackie. He looked away and felt himself relax. He scratched at his temple and hoped that Mackie wasn't too drunk to catch the signal. That little gesture indicated that it was all going to kick off in the next few moments.

"Mr. Winston?" said a guard. The man stood close to his elbow. John nodded. The guard gestured towards Benton's alcove. "If you would come this way, sir?" He almost made it sound like a request, but the three other guards that then surrounded John in a semicircle made it obvious that it wasn't. John was sure that his fake coin been found out, just as he had hoped.

John turned to more fully face the first guard and relaxed further. Time seemed to slow. All of his fears and second-guessing fell away to be replaced with a determination. It was time to find out if he was still worthy of the name the Russians had given him, back in the days when he'd been contracted to Viggo.

The whispered name, the name of the dark figure from the forest. The child stealer. The flesh eater.

 _Baba Yaga._

He nodded at the guard who had spoken as if he was going to obey, and then with a casual air punched up with his left hand towards the man's head. His omni-tool activated just as his fist connected with the guard's throat, and the man froze stiff as if he'd touched a live wire. John used the opportunity to reach into the man's jacket and pluck the gun from his holster.

He didn't look as he shot at the guard to his left. John spun and kept firing at anything with a tuxedo. John felt rather than saw the first guard topple away from him. His next shot hit the guard to his right in the throat, rather than the head as he intended. The screaming began.

* * *

Mackie had indeed caught John's signal, so he was looking right at the little clump of guards when it all happened. He watched the first guard fall back and hit the ground. The guard's head slid right off of his shoulders like a broken doll. The head rolled away and was followed by an impressive gush of blood. John somehow had a gun now, and inside of two seconds the other three guards were down. As the firing began, Mackie saw Leng push off of the bar. He decided it was time to drop the drunk act and snatched at the gin bottle. He smashed it as hard and as fast as he could at the back of Leng's head. The solid shock of connection traveled up his arm, and he felt a brief sense of satisfaction as the Cerberus man went face-first into the carpet.

Mackie didn't even look to see if he was out of commission before reaching for his omni-tool and triggering the proper sequence of charges. There had been four different scenarios that he and John had worked out in advance, and John had opted for option number three. Number three was the messy option. The signal from his omni-tool sped through all of the signal repeaters that he'd left through the club and down the stairs. Mackie felt a vague tremble beneath his feet.

He ran towards one of the downed guards, trying to dodge the general stampede for the exit. The wait staff and the other brokers were _not_ sticking around. Mackie did see that the Batarian reps were huddled against the far wall. He reached the guard and took the dead man's gun. Mackie sprinted for one of the nearby railings and crouched behind it. He took aim at the doorway and braced his arms on the railing. He hoped that he wouldn't have to actually shoot. Right now, the panicked crush of people at the door meant that no more guards could get down here.

He saw John vault over one of the railings and continue firing. The man held his gun oddly, with his hands clasped together and his right elbow held high. But as odd as it looked, he wasn't missing any of his shots.

* * *

Benton hit the panic switch with his foot the moment he'd seen the first guard fall. Faster than he could take another breath, the guards that were supposed to be taking Mr. Winston into custody were down. Mr. Winston himself was vaulting over the closest railing. There was a muted _snap_ as a mass effect shield snapped into place over the front of his alcove.

"Larson? What do we do?" asked the blonde next to him.

"Shut up," he snarled. Then, a little more softly. "Just get under the table. Don't get in my way." She vanished like something had yanked her under.

He pulled his gun and his knife out, more as a security blanket than anything else. The panic switch should have also alerted his security staff upstairs. He just had to hold out until they got here.

* * *

 _Treat the thermal clip like a magazine, treat the thermal clip like a magazine..._

John continued to silently chant it to himself as he knelt behind one of the railings and took down the last guard. He ejected a blazing hot thermal clip and took mental inventory of his ammunition. He should have at least twenty shots left in this pistol, plus another gun in his belt that he'd taken from another guard. it should be plenty for the moment. He saw Leng stretched out by the bar and Mackie aiming a gun at the door. John nodded to himself in satisfaction. The Batarian reps had apparently decided it was safer to stay than flee; the three men were huddled off to one side. One of them saw John's glance, and held his hands out in front of him to show they were unarmed.

John briefly considered just shooting the three of them right now. From what little he'd read, Leng had been perfectly right to call them traitors to humanity. But they were unarmed. He gave a little internal snort of annoyance. The old him, the one before Helen, would have done it.

He took a step towards the stage and Prasad. The Alliance man was pressed back against the rear of the cylinder and looking in disbelief at the carnage. John started to call out to him just as two strong arms clamped down around him from behind.

John stomped down on his attacker's instep, and the bear hug faltered just enough for him to drive an elbow behind him and break the hold. He felt a punch at the back of his head, a good one that rattled him and sent him forward onto his knees. He rolled onto his back just as Kelso leaped at him.

He felt a little spark of panic. The Cerberus operative had literally come out of nowhere. John got two shots off into Kelso's center of mass before the larger man fell on him. He kept control of his gun as Kelso snarled into his face and tried to wrap two long-fingered hands around John's neck. John snapped his forehead up and into Kelso's nose and felt a satisfying crunch. He put two more bullets into the bastard's torso as well. He must have hit something vital, because the Cerberus man stopped moving.

John shoved the corpse off of him with some effort and got to his feet. The front of his suit was now thoroughly covered with Kelso's blood. He heard a crack of gunfire behind him, and saw that more guards had finally arrived at the door. The other civilians were gone, and Mackie was firing into the door to keep them bottled up.

He ran forward and felt a little pull at his side. Kelso falling on him had probably given him a lovely set of bruises. He reached Prasad's cell and met the Alliance man's scared eyes.

"We're getting you out, okay?" John called out, and hoped the tube wasn't soundproof. He was glad to see Prasad nod, and John motioned for him to get on the floor. He also hoped that whatever this tube was made out of wasn't some sort of impossible-to-cut substance. John placed his fist near the middle of the tube and activated his omni-tool again.

The tool's blade cut into the cylinder just as easily as it had gone into that first guards' neck. John carefully moved around the cell, dragging his blade through the cylinder's wall as he did so. He felt no real drag as he cut, which made it feel slightly surreal. He finished a complete circuit and shoved the top off with a heave of his shoulders. It was easier than he'd expected. Ether the material was lighter than it looked, or his enhancements were really starting to take effect.

Prasad unfolded himself from the floor and stood. He had a slightly wild, uncertain expression. "Who are you?" he asked John.

John didn't have time for twenty questions. "Can you move?"

The other man nodded and high-stepped out of his former prison. "To get out of here, I'll fucking well sprint!"

"Good. Let's go." He turned and yelled. "Mackie! Last call!"


	5. Pollution

_A/N: Yes, yes, I'm a day late with this. Gimme a break, I just saw John Wick 2 (see the note at the bottom)._

* * *

"Mackie! Last call!"

Mackie was really, really glad to hear that. He knew how to shoot a gun, but he was no marksman. All he could do was try to generally put shots towards the door and hope that it was enough to keep the incoming guards pinned down. And he was also down to two heat sinks left, so this situation wasn't going to stay stable for long. He could see a few heads peeking around the edge of the door. When he was out of shots, they were coming in.

When he heard John's shout, Mackie turned and ran for the stage. He saw John take aim and put a few more bullets towards the door. Prasad was just standing there and looking around wildly. He pointed past John at the far door. "How are we getting out of here? That's the only exit."

"Relax, my man," replied Mackie. "Oh, and you're welcome by the way." He opened his omni-tool and sent the last command. This time the resulting tremor was a lot more obvious. He crouched and winced as a couple of bullets smacked into the wall next to him. He yelled "DUCK!"

Both John and Prasad obeyed. The bricks along the wall at the far right side of the stage bulged and then blew apart. Fragments of brick sprayed into the room, and Mackie wished that was all there was. Unfortunately, what followed the shrapnel was a flood of dark and malodorous water. The flood gushed out over the stage and onto the floor beyond. It filled up the first few tiers before stopping.

"Go, Mackie," John's face was set in concentration as he kept firing at the door.

Mackie grabbed Prasad's arm. "Time to get dirty!" The Alliance man allowed himself to be towed to the new hole. Prasad hesitated a little bit when he reached the nastiness still oozing out into the room. Mackie couldn't really blame him. He didn't have shoes, after all.

"It's this, or stay here!" he shouted over the gunfire. Prasad nodded and almost ran through the hole. Mackie followed, and felt the 'water' squelch up over his shoes. And he had _just_ bought these. Oh well, with what he was making on this he could get a whole closet's worth of footwear.

He glanced behind and saw John backpedaling through the hole. He had never stopped shooting. The three of them began splashing at a running speed through the sewer.

* * *

Benton turned off the shield and wheezed as he levered himself out of his booth. His reinforcements now filled the room. He glared at the bodies that littered the floor, as well as at the small pond's worth of sewage that now filled its forward half. "Get after 'em!" he yelled.

One of his men actually tried to speak up. "Through that?"

Benton pulled his knife out and pressed it point-first against the man's neck. "Did I fucking stutter? That fucker is getting away with my property!" A little trickle of blood ran down the guard's neck.

The guard said nothing further as he headed for the hole on the stage. Ten others followed. Benton ground his teeth together as he surveyed the room again, looking for a particular body. If Miss Herndon was dead, then he was going to tear Barcelona apart looking for those two bastards.

"Sir?" The voice made him whip his head around. He relaxed a little bit to see that it was his assistant. Miss Herndon still looked as imperturbable as ever, although her suit coat and skirt were streaked with blood.

"Good, you ain't dead. Get the word out. Especially to the Organization. Let 'em know somebody's pretending to be one of their operatives, and get 'em the pictures."

"Yes, sir. I should tell you that all of the fleeing brokers and waitstaff caused a bit of a panic upstairs."

That gave Benton pause. Miss Herndon had no detectable accent, but she had been raised in Great Britain and had retained the habit of British understatement. If she said it was 'a bit of a panic' then it was probably more like a full-scale riot.

"Shit. So much for keeping this quiet. Okay, call Captain Bestok and make sure he's the first one in here. He better keep a lid on this, I pay him enough."

Miss Herndon nodded, then paused as if not sure she should speak. "Those men you sent will not be enough."

"They'll keep 'em running, though. I got an idea where they're headed. I'm gonna call Stefan and make sure he's there to meet 'em."

* * *

John found the sealed bag that they had stashed earlier. He unzipped it and took out his pistol and holstered it. Then he removed the rifle which unfolded itself in his hands. He felt a little surge of perverse happiness when holding it. Pistols were nice and all, but now he had a _proper_ weapon. Mackie then pulled out the shotgun he'd chosen as his backup weapon. The fixer had wanted something that didn't need quite as much precision.

Prasad leaned against the sewer wall and was already breathing heavily. He was definitely not used to running. "Do I get a gun?"

"Do you know how to use one?" asked John.

"Well, I sort of do. I shot one a few years ago."

He tried to let Prasad down easy. "Shooting is a perishable skill. Sorry, but I've already got one amateur to deal with." John saw Mackie's face go taut with anger and he slipped the young man a wink.

Mackie gave a little laugh. "Amateur, huh? Tell me, who was it who put down that Leng creep?"

John nodded. "That was a good ploy. Hell, I thought you were drunk myself."

Prasad edged a little further down the wall away from them. "Gentlemen, I appreciate your aid. But I need to know who you're working for before I go any further."

Mackie's brow wrinkled. "Dude, do you wanna go back? You didn't look like you were having a good time."

The Alliance man looked at them both. "And what kind of 'good time' am I heading for? Maybe I'll be just as...tortured if I go with you." Prasad gave a little shudder, and touched a fresh cut on his cheek.

"We don't have time for this," John grated. He half considered just knocking Prasad out. It would be a pain to lug the man around, but if Prasad was looking to bolt it might make matters simpler.

Mackie held up his hand that wasn't holding the shotgun. "It's okay, John. Let me handle this." He turned and put his hand on Prasad's shoulder. The man fliched a little at the touch, and Mackie gave him a comforting smile that seemed to relax him. "I'm not gonna let you get hurt. Because I know about getting kicked around. You need to understand, I'm not with him." Mackie nodded towards John. "He's the one hired to get you. I'm just working for him. I don't have the backup available that he does. And seeing as how I've just painted a huge target on my ass for both Benton and Cerberus, I think that means I get a say in what happens to you. Wouldn't you agree, John?" He looked back over his shoulder and gave John a searching look.

John scanned back the way they had come. He thought he heard distant voices calling. They really didn't have time to hash this out right now. "Our intel was bad. We were told you were the one running the auction and selling your knowledge. But you weren't, which changes things...look, let's fucking get out of here first and then we'll figure out our next steps. And yes, Mackie, that will include your input as well as Nathan's."

Prasad still didn't look entirely convinced, but he straightened up and nodded. The manic look in his eyes faded a bit. "You are correct, of course. I'm sorry for my behavior. The most logical course of action would be to accept your protection until we are out of immediate danger. It was just...I can't have _that_ happen again." He touched his wounded cheek again.

Mackie gave his shoulder a squeeze. "Don't worry, dude. We're getting out of here."

John sloshed past them both. "Let's get going. Did you let the driver know where to meet?"

The young man nodded. "And I got confirmation. Don't worry, Cammy will be there."

* * *

The man bent and pulled at the sewer grate, but there was no give to it. "Shit. We need a prybar or something-"

A hand the size of a catcher's mitt slammed down and grabbed the grate. There was a brief protesting shriek of rusted metal giving way as the hand pulled it up without any apparent effort.

The man looked up at the huge form of Stefan, who tossed the grate aside like a wad of aluminum foil. The giant turned to look at the men surrounding him. His shaved head gleamed in the streelights. "All of you, get down there. Now."

They didn't waste any time in complying. There were rumors about Stefan. He was ex-military, that much was certain. But he had been dishonorably discharged. The stories as to _why_ started with beating a superior officer to a literal bloody pulp, and went all the way up to atrocities committed against prisoners of war.

Either way, when Stefan said to go into the sewer you went into the sewer.

* * *

Mackie was bringing up the rear of their trio, and he could hear the sounds of their pursuers getting louder. He wondered briefly how the hell they were tracking them through the maze of tunnels. Maybe they had thermal imaging? However they were managing the feat, they were getting to be a little too close. But, at least the three of them would soon reach the exit.

He was looking behind him, and so didn't see that Prasad had stopped. Mackie collided with the man's back and they both nearly fell over into the muck.

"Sorry," murmured Prasad. "John's seen something, I think."

"Great," replied Mackie. He looked over Prasad's shoulder and saw that John was peeking around the next bend in the tunnel. The noxious air was getting a little fresher, although that might have been Mackie's hopes.

John backed up to them. "I think there's an interception team ahead of us. They must have figured out our exit point. You were right, Mackie. The waterfront was too obvious."

"Ah, don't sweat it. But I think our fan club behind us is getting closer as well. We can't stay here."

"No, but we can hold out for a bit. Or at least you two can."

Prasad paled a little bit. "What?"

John pointed behind Mackie. "Station yourself at that bend back there. I remember there's an archway of sorts beyond it. That archway should make a decent choke point. Just do it like you did at the club, right?"

Mackie didn't feel like pointing out that they'd had the element of surprise in the club. "Um, right. Where are you gonna be, John?"

"I'm going ahead to clear out any resistance. I'll comm you when it's safe, and you fall back to the exit. Okay?"

Mackie nodded, and gently slapped Prasad on the shoulder. "Come on, my man. Let's do this."

* * *

The man peeked around the corner only to get shot in the forehead by John. Before the body even hit the sewage, John had his rifle aimed around the corner and was firing at any light he could see. Three of them went down in the first volley as the rest dove for cover and returned fire. He ducked back as fragments of brick spalled past his face. They were all shooting at the height of his head, which was good for him.

John took a step back and then did a diving roll out into the tunnel. He rolled up onto one knee and took down the rest of the lights. The rattle of gunfire died away as he waded forward, rifle still at the ready. Their exit grate should be around the next corner-

An arm slammed into his rifle and knocked it to one side, followed by a knife-hand chop to his throat. John felt rather than saw the second incoming attack and managed to tuck his chin in before the edge of the hand connected. The hand impacted his jaw instead of his throat, but he still saw stars as he reeled against the wall. John felt a rush of incoming air and knew his attacker was trying to tackle him. He kicked out at where a knee should be and felt a gratifying crunch of impact followed by a grunt of pain. His attacker still managed to hit one shoulder into him and bang him into the wall. John got his rifle free and hammered the butt of its stock down into the man's back. He followed it up with a knee into the man's face. The man fell onto his back as John got his rifle into firing position. He put two shots into the man's head before the body could hit the sewage.

John shook his head to try to clear it and kept moving. He cautiously rounded the corner and saw the streetlights shining down through the now-open sewer grate. He stepped under it and did a careful scan of what he could see, which admittedly wasn't much.

He fumbled a bit in getting his omni-tool activated. "Mackie? Fall back to the grate, it's clear-"

John was interrupted by a huge hand clamping onto his shirt front. He was jerked up into the open air like a hooked grouper.

* * *

Mackie slipped his purloined gun out of his waistband and handed it down to Prasad. "Hey, take this."

"Are you sure that's wise? I'm not a good shot at all." The man was crouched down beneath Mackie and was peeking around the corner, just like he was.

"You don't have to be good, just shoot that way and make 'em keep their heads down." Mackie pointed towards the archway. "Just be careful, there's not too many shots left in that one." Just as he finished speaking, Mackie saw a head poke around the archway and let fly with the shotgun. He was gratified to see a spray of blood and hear a hoarse shout of alarm and pain.

Prasad also began shooting. Mackie was glad to see that the man didn't just keep firing blindly. He seemed to at least pick and choose where to shoot, even if his actual aim wasn't the best.

What happened next was a repetitive little two-step dance where they would hang themselves out around the corner and shoot anything that moved near the archway, then duck back to avoid the counter-fire from their pursuers. It seemed to work okay, and once Mackie was even able to catch one of them as the man tried to make a rush towards them. His shotgun caught the bastard full in the chest, and the man just dropped like a puppet whose strings had been cut.

Mackie's omni-tool buzzed. "Mackie? Fall back to the grate, it's clear."

"That's our cue, my man." Mackie put a few more shotgun blasts into the archway, then spun and began sprinting for the exit. He heard Prasad panting with exertion behind him, but the man seemed to be keeping up in spite of his lack of fitness and lack of shoes.

Mackie grinned back over his shoulder at Prasad. "No worries, it's smooth sailing from here on."

* * *

John gasped in surprise from the sudden yank and was confronted with a huge face that looked like a shaved slab of ham with eyes.

"Where is Prasad?" asked Ham-Face. He didn't bother to wait for a reply before smashing his other huge fist into John's chest. The air was driven from his lungs and John felt himself fly through the air before colliding with something hard and metallic. He heard his rifle go clattering away as the huge man walked carefully towards him.

John glanced around in a panic. He was fetched up against a lamppost, one of many stretching along a pedestrian pathway near the southern Barcelona waterfront. It was an industrial area, so there was little foot traffic at this late hour. John had chosen this particular exit area because of that, and because it was close to a variety of possible escape routes.

There was nobody else around, and the sun had long ago gone down. All in all, it was a very pleasant Mediterranean spring evening. Apart from the gigantic man bearing down on him.

"Where is Prasad?" Ham-Face asked again. "Tell me, and I'll finish you quickly."

John wheezed in pain and tried to leverage himself up. Ham-Face reached down and grabbed both of John's lapels, then lifted him into the air and banged him hard against the lamppost again. John felt another flare of pain along his back, and hoped that the enhancement he'd been given had finished its work. Otherwise he was going to wind up with a fractured spine at this rate.

"Where?" Ham-Face certainly didn't seem to have a varied vocabulary. In reply, John was able to get his hand down and get his pistol unholstered. He couldn't bring it up due to the bulk of the man pressing against him, but he was able to get a shot off into the man's knee.

Ham-Face bellowed like a wounded bull and dropped John. He grabbed at John's gun arm and got it in a viselike hold. Before he could do anything else, John kicked hard into his wounded knee, which folded the wrong way. Ham-Face keeled over like a battleship hulled below the waterline. His grip on John's arm weakened but he still didn't let go. John was able to twist his wrist enough to get around to one side of the downed behemoth, then snaked himself up onto the man's back and managed to get his other arm around Ham-Face's neck.

It was like trying to strangle a concrete pillar. The man's other hand came up and began to easily pry John's arm away. John twisted his gun-hand back down and fired off a few shots, hoping to hit something. He didn't seem to hit much, so he decided to go with Ham-Face's pull instead of resisting. The sudden lack of resistance seemed to flummox the huge man, and John was able to get his non-gun hand free. John folded his free arm back and hammered his elbow into the back of the man's neck three times before Ham-Face apparently had enough and just threw John over his head.

John landed hard on his belly and had the air driven from him for the second time in less than a minute. He groaned and tried to push himself up. He could see his pistol a few feet away, between himself and his foe. Ham-Face, for his part, was trying to get to his feet but his ruined knee didn't seem to be capable of supporting his bulk. He also had his eyes fixed on John's gun.

John was just able to push himself up onto his hands and knees. He began crawling forward, and glanced up. He had a sinking feeling when he saw that Ham-Face was also hobbling on one leg and knee towards the weapon.

The clack of a shotgun being cocked was suddenly very loud in the still evening air. Mackie held his shotgun braced against his shoulder, and to his credit the muzzle wasn't wavering too much. Ham-Face stared back at Mackie with an annoyed placidity that reminded John of a Cape Buffalo getting ready to trample some annoyance.

Mackie stepped closer. "Enough, you fucker. Move and I put one right through your big stupid head-"

He was getting too close to Ham-Face. John tried to call out a warning but all he could manage was a hoarse croak. Just as he tried to call again, Ham-Face's hand lashed out with surprising speed and grabbed the barrel of Mackie's shotgun. The young man stood in stunned shock as he was suddenly facing the muzzle of his own weapon.

As Ham-Face made his move, John was already making his. He launched himself towards the pistol and managed to get one hand on it. He now lay completely prone on the ground as he pointed the gun with two slightly shaking hands right at Ham-Face's head. The huge man had, in turn, the shotgun held in one hand and pointed right at Mackie's head. They all looked at each other for a very long moment, wondering who was going to make the first move that would break up their little _tableau_.

There was a nearby blaring horn and a loud crash. Ham-Face glanced behind Mackie and his eyes widened in surprise. Mackie took advantage of the distraction and dove flat onto the ground. The shining scarab shape of an aircar came crashing through one of the storefront shops with its headlights blazing. It spun like a top as it came barreling forward and flew right over Mackie's prone form. It then slammed its rear right corner into Ham-Face's chest. The huge man actually went airborne before fetching up against another lamppost. The metal post folded and bent over like cheap tin. From the way Ham-Face's head lolled, he was either out cold or hopefully dead.

John got shakily to his feet and hobbled towards the vehicle. The canopy of the aircar hinged upward and a cheerful reverberating voice called out, "Somebody order a ride?"

The driver was similar to the armor-plated aliens that John had seen in the streets of Prague. This was a turian, a member of the race that had first made contact with humans and then had promptly started a war with them. Depending on whom you asked, it had either been an act of overconfident aggression or a matter of stopping a naive newcomer race from triggering some horrible Armageddon.

This particular turian didn't have the long bird-like crest that he'd seen on the turians in Prague. The alien seemed a little smaller, and its features weren't quite as sharp and angular. It also had different facial markings. Instead of the blue paint the others had worn, this turian wore a striking red mask that looked almost like a stylized skull. The painted mask was a little disconcerting, but the alien appeared to be smiling. At least John hoped that expression was a smile; there were a lot of fangs and mandibles involved.

"That would be me," said John. Speaking was an effort; his midsection felt like an elephant had been tap-dancing on his lungs. "Are you Camicia Mellus?"

The turian nodded. "And you're either my customer or, judging by your smell, an evil spirit from the noxious depths."

John nodded towards the downed bulk of Ham-Face. "That was nice aim, by the way."

Cammy shrugged. "I try. Hey, where's my Mackie-boy?"

"I think he's under your car," replied John.

"Yeah, and I'm just _fine_ , thank you for asking," huffed Mackie as he levered himself from under the car. "Jesus, that fucker was fast." He stood upright. Mackie's nice suit was now...no longer so nice. It was torn and streaked with materials that didn't warrant close inspection. John figured that his own appearance was just as dire.

"Spirits, Mackie. You've had a bad night, eh?" The turian winked at the fixer.

John suddenly realized they were minus one very important person. "Where's Prasad?"

"Oh, I told him to lay low on the ladder just below the exit. I heard you tussling with The Cathedral That Walks over there and figured Nathan should stay out of it."

"Um, gentlemen?" called Prasad's voice from the sewer exit. "I think I hear some people approaching down here. Is it safe to come out?"

"Yeah, you'd better move it, Nathan," called Mackie in reply. "Now, let's see, which one was it..." He called up his omni-tool and began paging through options. "Oh yeah, that one."

Prasad pushed himself up out of the exit and began limping towards the aircar. "I fear I may have injured myself on something when I was running up to the ladder. I believe it was a broken bottle." John looked and winced at the nasty-looking and bloody cut on the side of one of Prasad's bare feet.

Just as Prasad reached the aircar, Mackie touched a control. There was a loud bang and a gust of debris from the sewer entrance, followed by quite a few screams. Mackie smiled smugly to himself.

Cammy looked past John. "Er, I don't think your playmate is quite out of the fight." The turian pointed a talon, and Mackie cursed. Ham-Face had rolled over and was slowly trying to get to his knees.

"Fuck," muttered John, and looked around. "Where did that rifle get to? Oh good, I see it. Mackie, you take care of Nathan and get him into the car. I'll be right back." He limped off to where his weapon had wound up. Fortunately, whatever ultra-tech materials it was made of seemed to have held up under the abuse. He nodded in satisfaction, turned, and put two precise rounds through Ham-Face's head. John stalked forward until he was a few feet from the body and gave it two more just for good luck. He then retrieved the shotgun from near the corpse.

"All aboard, then?" asked Cammy in a carefree tone.

John gave the turian a weary nod.

* * *

Mackie peeked around John's shoulder. The assassin was in the front passenger seat while he and Nathan were in the back. There were a couple of aircars skimming towards them as Cammy flew their car towards the harbor exit. Benton had apparently sent more reinforcements to back up the elephant in the suit that John had just shot.

"Do we have weapons on this thing?" asked John.

The turian gave a snort. "Are you implying that I need them for this petty problem?"

"Well, I just meant-"

John was cut off as Cammy gave a little twitch of the controls. They were now aimed directly at one of the oncoming enemy. There was a brief game of chicken before the enemy decided to swerve. The second oncoming car tried to veer into their side as it passed, but Cammy made a graceful little swerve and avoided the collision completely. There was nobody ahead of them, and they flew over the harbor mouth and into the Mediterranean.

"Amateurs," said Cammy. She sounded almost disappointed. "So where are we heading to?"

"Go north along the coast for now," replied John. "I need to check a couple of things before I can give you a more specific address."

The turian brought their aircar around in a gentle arc and they began flying along the coast. Mackie took a few deep breaths and felt himself relax. They were almost home free. Unfortunately, that breathing also brought in the truly amazing funk that now filled the interior of the aircar.

Cammy cleared her throat. "So, do you mind if I turn up the ventilation a little? I'm guessing even with your limited sense of smell you must know how bad it is."

"Do it," replied John in a distracted voice. He was apparently checking several messages on his omni-tool.

Another holographic display popped up next to Cammy. She looked at it and gave a little disgusted grunt. "We may have a problem. Spanish air traffic has just gotten an alert from Barcelona, and they're getting ready to ground all air traffic in the area. I can spoof our transponder to look like the Barcelona police. That will work for a while. But if anybody double-checks with the police we'll be found out."

"Do you have a standard police channel scanner?" asked Prasad. His voice was no longer hesitant, and Mackie was struck by how alert and intense his eyes had become. "Also, can you give me control of your communications system?"

The turian gave a suspicious glance into the back seat. "Why?"

"I can get access to several vehicle databases, including law enforcement agencies. I'll put us in as an official vehicle performing government business. It will be more thorough than just changing our transponder codes."

"I don't know," said the turian. "If you mess up, we may as well put a big blinking arrow right on us."

"I won't fail," replied Prasad. He looked to John. "I've trusted you this far. I ask you for the same courtesy. I have no desire to go back to Barcelona, even in police custody. Benton has too many people in the department."

John thought about it a bit, and then nodded. "Okay, Nathan. What cover identity are you going to give us?"

Prasad shrugged. "That depends on our destination. If you have one picked out, that is."

"I was thinking of Naples. It's a straight shot east from here, and there's a safe house in the area. It's just south of the city in a little town called Portici." John turned to Cammy. "Go ahead, let the man try it."

The turian set her shoulders, and Mackie knew she wasn't happy. But she went ahead and touched a few controls on the dash. "It's all yours. Just don't mess up. Or I'll have to do some really creative driving."

Prasad pulled up a display next to his seat and nodded. "I do indeed have control. Thank you, madam."

Mackie caught a little flicker of surprise on John's face, and realized that John had thought that Cammy was a male. Now that he thought about it, John seemed to be out of touch about a lot of things that someone in his line of work shouldn't be. Before Mackie could follow that particular train of thought, he was distracted by Prasad's sudden burst of action.

The man might be an intel weenie, but he was faster than anybody Mackie had ever seen. Within about two minutes, he had apparently entered and modified at least six different databases. His movements were quick and precise, and he never made a typo that Mackie could see. Within another minute, Prasad nodded in satisfaction and leaned back.

"We should be in the clear," he said. "I now have us as an Interpol courier carrying time-sensitive materials to their office in Naples. We are exempt from any air traffic grounding that may occur. You should be able to fly directly there with no problem."

"That was bloody brilliant!" exclaimed Mackie.

Prasad gave him a little sheepish smile that Mackie found adorable. "I have to confess, it was a little easier for me. The Alliance has built back doors into several Terran databases. They're meant to be used for emergency purposes only."

John turned his head and looked a little askance at Prasad. "Aren't you going to get in trouble for doing that?"

The Alliance agent gave a bitter laugh. "I'm already in trouble. Not for treason, but for other things. Database misuse is minor compared to what I've got to answer for." He glanced towards Cammy's back. "But that discussion can wait until we're at our destination. No need to mention it here."

If the turian took any offense at the lack of trust, she didn't show it. "Fine by me. I'm just a taxi driver at this point. We've got a couple of hours before we get there. Assuming I don't pass out from the stench, of course."

* * *

 _A/N #2: Those of you who have seen John Wick 2 know that there are some...complications that arise during that movie. I've chosen to ignore them for this story, since I started writing it before the movie came out. BTW, go see John Wick 2._


	6. Interrogation

The 'safe house' that John had mentioned turned out to be more like a 'safe villa'. It was a roomy two-story house that looked out over the Mediterranean, and was situated at the far end of a quiet street. More importantly it had plenty of bathrooms, which meant no one had to wait to get a good hot shower.

Although, now that he thought about it, Mackie would not have minded sharing a shower with Nathan. Ah well, it was something to consider for the future. Who he _really_ wanted to thank right now was whomever had stocked the house. They had supplied plenty of luxuriously soft bathrobes. It was almost worth having to participate in a running gun battle through a sewer.

After showering and patching up their various cuts and scrapes, they met in the villa's spacious kitchen. Camicia was not there; she was out in the courtyard washing out her car and no doubt muttering unprintable turian curses about filthy-smelling humans. She'd almost been ready to leave after dropping them off, but John had slipped her a chit and hired her for another week. The turian had agreed, but had also made it clear that she wanted no part in any skullduggery. "I'm a pilot," she'd told John. "You need me to get you someplace, tell me where to go and that's it. I do not want to know anything further."

There was an espresso machine in the kitchen - it was Italy, after all - and John was just finishing making a third espresso as Mackie walked in. The rising sun came in through the windows of the kitchen and fell gently across the table that was in the kitchen's center. Prasad was sitting there already, and Mackie followed suit. The fixer supposed that this was what would be called a 'council of war', but that was a little too grandiose of a term for three guys sitting around in bathrobes.

"All right," said John. He set an espresso in front of each of them, then took a seat opposite. He was still moving a little stiffly, but his limp looked to be going away. "This is your one chance to explain yourself, Mr. Prasad. If you're half the analyst I think you are, then you know who I work for."

"I have a very good idea, sir," replied Prasad. He looked at the small cup in front of him but didn't drink. "The Organization's standard protocol is to not divulge an account holder's identity. Is that true in my case?"

"It is."

"Very well. I assume you can't simply ask for that identity?"

"I could," replied John. "But that would be a breach of the rules. And my people are very fond of rules." He glanced over at a clock on the far wall. It was the one piece of kitsch in the place, in the form of a black-and-white cat whose eyes went back and forth to count out the seconds. "I've put them off, but I have to get back to them soon. You have one hour to convince me to break those rules."

Prasad finally took a sip of espresso, and the action seemed to galvanize him. "I understand. Then let me begin." He pushed his chair back from the table and stood. He grasped the lapels of his bathrobe and his manner suddenly became professorial, as if he was lecturing a class. "As I said earlier, I am in significant trouble with Alliance Intelligence for certain actions. Rest assured, I had good reasons for performing those actions. My...adventures in Barcelona have uncovered information that _must_ get to the Alliance. Everything else is of secondary importance, even my own life. If I could be certain that the Alliance receives this information, then I don't care about where I wind up."

Mackie leaned back. "I'm guessing that you can't just tell us your big scary secret. Then we'd be targets as well."

Prasad nodded. "Yes. Trust me when I say this is something you don't want to get involved with. I suppose I could record a message and have you deliver it. But there's only a few people within the Alliance that I would trust with this information. And two crooks - forgive me, but it's the truth - aren't going to be able to get an audience with them."

John smiled without humor. "I'm not a crook, I'm a killer."

The analyst gave a little bow of the head. "So I saw in Barcelona. But the point still stands." He paused for a moment. "I may be overthinking this. Perhaps the Alliance are the ones who opened the account. That would make things simpler."

"I can tell you that it's not them," replied John. "Remember the rules? One of our oldest is that the Organization does _not_ do business with governments. No politics."

"Which also excludes the batarians. That's a relief. What about Cerberus? Would your Organization let them open an account?"

Mackie's brow wrinkled. "That makes no sense. Cerberus was already there to bid on you, dude."

"Auctions are uncertain things, Mr. Smith. Especially if nation-states are involved. Cerberus might be hedging its bets."

John finished his espresso. "From what I know about Cerberus, they would be considered too political."

Prasad stared off into space. "Hmm. It could be Synthetic Insights, trying to get back their wayward employee. Or another rival firm, perhaps. A large corporation should be able to afford a account of about...ten million, I should think." He glanced at John. "The account is for more than ten million, which excludes them."

John laughed in disbelief. "I didn't say anything!"

"You didn't have to. I can read the micro-expressions in your face. Slight rise of the lips, twitch of one eyebrow. You may as well have told me outright."

Mackie sat back. He wasn't sure if he was scared by this newly confident version of Prasad, or _really_ turned on. "So who is it, then?"

"The size of the account may tell us. Was it for more than twenty million?" Prasad glanced again at John, and Mackie could tell the assassin was trying to keep his face still. "More. Fifty million? Yes, around fifty million."

John's face relaxed into a half-smile. "Maybe I should have left you in the sewer. I can see why there are a lot of people after you."

Prasad shrugged. "Only at the moment. This is an unusual situation for me. Ordinarily, I keep a much lower profile. But I was stupid, I was _so_ stupid..." He looked stricken for a moment, then straightened again. "I fear I am going to have to do something I absolutely, positively, _hate_ to do."

"What's that?" asked John.

"I have to trust somebody. More specifically, I have to trust you two." Prasad looked up at John. "Please call your people. I only ask that you two be there when I am handed off to the account holder. If it looks...wrong, I hope that you will intercede on my behalf."

John thought for a moment, then nodded.

"Hey, now." Mackie put his hands up, palms out. "I am a hired hand in this, just like Cammy out there. I'm not getting involved any further. As soon as I get my money and get some proper clothes, I am out of here."

"Please, Mr Sm...Mackie. You trusted me enough to give me a gun during our escape. I am placing my trust in you now. I would feel more secure if you were there as well."

Mackie blew out an exasperated breath. "Fine. It's lucky for you that you're cute."

* * *

Mrs. Carmichael had readily agreed to having John and Mackie present for the hand-off...a little too readily for John's comfort. She was probably expecting the request. Actually, she was probably five steps ahead of the request. Even so, John wanted to have his options open. He walked into the courtyard and cleared his throat as he approached the aircar. The driver was bent over and fiddling with something under the dashboard. "Hello, Miss Mellus."

The turian straightened up and faced him. John was tall, but even so he had to crane his neck up to meet her eyes. She gave John a level look. "Well, aren't we formal," She performed a little mock bow. "Hello, Mr. Winston. I sense that I'm about to be asked to earn my retainer."

"Maybe. We're going to have some visitors in the next couple of hours. I don't think there's going to be a problem, but just in case..."

"Just in case, you want me ready. Don't worry, give the word and we can be out of here like...what was that charming human expression...like crap through a goose."

* * *

Being a proper villa, the house had a lushly decorated reception room next to the foyer. It had pale green-gold wallpaper covered with ornate designs. The furniture matched the walls and was similarly ornate. It was a little too much for John's tastes; he preferred a more clean and modern style. Well, at least what he considered 'modern'. The house he'd shared with Helen would probably look ridiculously outdated now.

Mackie had volunteered to meet their visitors at the door. He led the three newcomers into the room. John stood with folded hands at the back of the room, and Prasad was sitting on a couch that faced the door. After Mackie, the first through the door was the huge bulk of Jackson trailed by the doddering form of Mrs. Carmichael. There was another person behind her, a taller man. At first, John thought that he was wearing a Picasso-like mask, but then saw that the man's features were constantly shifting and smearing. John figured that this must be some sort of holographic face scrambler. Mackie stepped to one side as they entered the room and waited with one nervous hand tapping on his thigh.

John glanced over at Prasad, who returned his glance and shrugged slightly. The analyst didn't seem to recognize the third man, at least by build.

"Mr. Prasad!" said Mrs. Carmichael. She sounded cheerful. "I am very glad to see you alive and well. And so is this gentleman."

"And who is he?" asked John. "If he's the one who gave you your intel, then he's an idiot."

The man didn't seem to react to that. In fact, he didn't say anything. He just sat in a chair facing Prasad and stared at him. His disguised features pulsed and blurred in the afternoon light coming through the windows.

Jackson frowned a little, but Mrs. Carmichael patted one of his huge shoulders. "It's all right, dear, allow me." She limped around Jackson's side and smiled at the three of them. "We're not all here. Where is your fourth team member?"

"Unavailable," replied John.

* * *

Camicia leaned against her car and checked her watch. In addition to the time, it also had a little scanner that showed any nearby mass effect fields. There was a big one out in front of the villa, which was probably the vehicle for her employer's visitors. She pictured in her mind the four fastest flight paths out of here, just in case things went south.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the gentle crunch of feet on the gravel path that led into the courtyard from the sea side. "Excuse me, ma'am?" The speaker was an asari, shorter and more petite than most asari that Camicia had met. She wore a slinky red dress that looked more suited for evening wear. The newcomer had both hands behind her back and had an uncertain look on her face, as if worried about being rude. She stopped about ten feet from the car.

Camicia crossed her arms casually. "It seems I've fallen in with a very polite crowd. What do you want?"

The asari smiled in what was obviously supposed to be a disarming fashion. Camicia was not fooled for a moment. "My employer would like you to join us in the front parlor."

"That's nice."

They stood like that for a long moment, and then the asari gave a little shrug as if she was going to bring her hands from behind her back. "I'm afraid my employer-"

Camicia uncrossed her arms, and now there was a pistol in one taloned hand. It was pointed right at the asari's forehead. "Don't move, sister. I'm not going anywhere."

The asari stared for a moment. Faster than Camicia could blink, there was a blue glow around her pistol that tore it from her hand. The asari reached up and casually caught the turian's weapon with one hand. Her other hand now had a gun of her own, pointed back at Camicia.

The asari gave a small apologetic smile. "I'm afraid I will have to insist."

* * *

Mackie didn't like the way this was going.

John glowered at the three visitors. "Your dossier said that Prasad was a traitor. He wasn't, he was a prisoner. What else haven't you told me?"

The disguised man on the couch didn't say anything.

The old woman shrugged. "I haven't told you a great many things, John. Management has to keep certain secrets, even from those who risk their lives for us."

"But is Management really involved in this?" John crossed his arms. "Because this whole thing smells to me like spy shit. It smells _political_. Maybe this is a little job you have going on the side."

Mrs. Carmichael held out one hand. "I understand your concerns, but my dear-"

"Don't 'dear' me. Am I being set up?" John nodded at Mackie. "Are _we_ being set up? It makes sense. You go and line your pockets without Management knowing, and get rid of us after it's all done. I'm not on the books, after all."

"I wouldn't do that. I am responsible for you. Just like my predecessor, and just like Winston-"

"Don't use his name. I knew Winston. I don't know you."

Mackie was taken a little aback. He had always figured that 'Winston' was just an alias for John, but it sounded like it also referred to a real person. His confusion was cut short by a soft knock at the other door into the room. It opened to reveal Camicia, who walked slowly into the room with her hands held up. Mackie saw a small asari standing behind her. From the blue alien's posture, she clearly had a gun in Camicia's back.

"Sorry boss," said Camicia. "She got the drop on me. Careful, she's a biotic."

John looked over at the pair. "Hello, Persephone." His voice had become surprisingly mild.

"Mr. Winston," replied the asari. Her angry violet eyes stared back at him.

There was a very long, still moment. Mackie thought furiously about how to not die when this whole mess inevitably went south. He shifted his feet carefully, not wanting to appear like he was getting ready to dive for cover.

"Persephone," said John. "Will you please not point a gun at my pilot?"

The asari gave him a level look. Mackie could tell she was really pissed at him for some reason. And then the bright red dot of a laser sight appeared on her chest. She glanced down and muttered a curse, then glared back up at John.

"I'm asking nicely," added John.

Mackie realized that John had drawn a gun when he'd crossed his arms earlier. He had the weapon tucked out of sight under his armpit, and was aiming it at the asari using his whole body.

Persephone's face relaxed. She held up both of her hands. A short, elegant-looking pistol dangled from one of her index fingers. "Anything you say...Baba Yaga."

A flicker passed over John's face at the name. Mackie made a mental note to look that up later.

Camicia took advantage of the lack of gun-in-back to dance off to the side. From the angry set of the turian's mandibles, it looked like she was getting ready to dispense some payback to the asari. Mackie saw Jackson tensing and also getting ready to do something foolish...

"Enough!"

The voice was rasping but somehow pleasant. It cut through the tension in the room like a sword, and everybody stopped. The disguised man touched a control on his sleeve, and the face scrambler shut off. His features resolved into a man with a craggy face and a white goatee. He stood with the air of someone who was so used to command that he automatically expected obedience. His eyes were pale gray and piercing, and he glared at everybody in turn as if daring them to move. Even Mrs. Carmichael seemed to shrink a little from his gaze. Mackie saw he had a meandering scar on one side of his face.

The man turned back to John. "I opened the account. Just me, no government involved. Now, can we dispense with all of this fucking dramatic bullshit? Because I still need to debrief this stupid sonofabitch." He pointed at Prasad.

Prasad, for his part, looked as if he was hoping the couch would simply swallow him up. "Hello, sir," he squeaked.

"Oh, it's 'sir' now is it? NOW you decide to be obedient? You jackass. Do you have ANY idea of the shitstorm that I'm in for if anybody finds out I'm working with these people?"

Prasad tried to sit up a little higher. "I can explain, sir-"

"You do so. And I want every detail. Shithead."

John slowly uncrossed his arms and gently holstered his gun. "Well, this is clearly something between the two of you. We'll just leave you to it-"

The man pointed at John. "No. You all stay. There's no such thing as OPSEC anymore for this particular goat-fuck. Besides," he glanced at Mrs. Carmichael, "I have a sneaking suspicion that I'll need to hire the lot of you after I talk to this dumbass."

Prasad stood with a little wobble in his knees. "Everyone, may I introduce Admiral Steven Hackett of the Alliance."

There was another long moment while the tension in the room dissipated a little. Mackie decided that now would be a good time to be busy and get everybody's minds off of the whole pointing-guns-at-each-other thing that had just happened.

"Coffee!" he said brightly. "I think we could all use some coffee. Hey, Miss Persephone? You wanna help me get some coffee set up?"

* * *

John had to admit, Mackie was doing his best to defuse the situation. After another angry look at John, Persephone had agreed to help the fixer get everybody some coffee. While the two of them bustled around and got everyone a cup, John wondered what exactly he'd done to piss off Persephone. It wasn't due to pointing a gun at her; she'd been mad the moment she had walked in. He _thought_ that he had left her on good terms, but maybe there was some nuanced bit of alien manners that he'd missed. For now, all he could do was hope to hash it out with her later.

And then, of course, there was Camicia. As angry as Persephone looked to be with him, the turian looked positively raring to go for Round Two with the asari. She stood on the opposite side of the room from Persephone and glared daggers at her.

"Okay, Mr. Prasad. Begin." Hackett's face was still stony, but he did look a little less furious.

The analyst set his cup aside. "To start with, I found some more information on Abraham Rumoi."

"You were told to let Rumoi go. By somebody pretty senior, as I recall. Oh that's right, it was _me_."

"I know, sir, it's just that...he shouldn't have gotten away."

Mackie cleared his throat. "Since we're apparently getting involved in all of this drama, can you tell us who this Rumoi guy is?"

Prasad began to speak but then looked at Hackett, who wearily nodded.

The analyst continued. "Abraham Rumoi was an intelligence officer with Alliance Intelligence, the same as I. He was suspected of selling some of his knowledge and was court-martialed for it. Unfortunately, Mr. Rumoi was very good at hiding his tracks. The only direct evidence we had of his crimes was in his head." Prasad tapped his own temple. "He also had a graybox, which held the detailed memories of his crimes. But that would involve self-incrimination, so the charges had to be dropped."

Prasad looked down and clenched his fists. It was the angriest that John had ever seen him. "He got away from us. Laughing all the while, I bet. But I knew I could track him down. I was able to find out his true name; Keiji Okuda. And he's still a thief, although it seems he now sticks to artwork and priceless artifacts."

"The damage that Okuda did to the Alliance is over and done with," said Hackett. "Your time is too valuable to waste tracking down a petty art thief."

Prasad unclenched his hands. "He's still in the intelligence game. Not as much as before, but he did have a couple of contacts who were still feeding him information now and then. One of those contacts got ahold of something very bad. And I found that he and Okuda met in Barcelona."

"And you decided to play at being a spy," said John.

The analyst looked over at John with a little bit of a manic expression. "I didn't have hard proof! Just some suggestive data. Nothing that I could go to my superiors with." He flicked a guilty glance at Hackett. "So I thought, well, how hard could field work be? I could take a vacation, do a little digging..."

"...get your ass captured by gangsters..." added Mackie. He gave Prasad a charming little smile to take the sting out of his words.

Prasad slumped a little. "Yes. I was less cautious than I should have been. But I did find out what I was looking for." He looked up at Hackett. "Admiral, Keiji Okuda has received detailed information about the Vana raid."

For the first time, John saw Hackett look scared. "Oh, _fuck_." The admiral stood and paced to the window. He stared out at the peaceful sea and took a deep breath. "What about Okuda's contact in Barcelona? Do they know about it?"

"No. They just passed encrypted files to Okdua without knowing the contents."

"Good. that's one less person we'll have to kill."

John made sure his hand was near his holster. "And what about us? Are we also loose ends?"

The admiral shook his head. "There is no Alliance here. Right now it's just one old man in a roomful of dangerous people. I need your help. I can't get official involvement in this. Not anymore. I used certain...discretionary funds to open the account with the Organization."

"Admiral Hackett wanted to keep things quiet," said Mrs. Carmichael. She shrugged apologetically at Prasad. "He thought you were a traitor, dear, and didn't want any word hitting official channels."

Hackett turned back to survey the room. "I want you all to understand the stakes. If it gets out, the information that Mr. Prasad just mentioned will trigger a war between the Alliance and the Batarian Hegemony. That's not in anybody's best interests, not now. Not when we have to prepare for...certain future events."

Persephone tilted her head. "Vana is a batarian colony. I'm assuming the raiders were disguised to hide Alliance involvement."

Hackett nodded. "It was the blackest of black ops, against a batarian research facility on Vana. We had a human strike team set up to look like a bunch of pirates. From fake identities all the way down to their equipment. The raid failed, mostly. But we did get a little bit of valuable intelligence."

"And what would that be?" asked Persephone. "What could possibly be worth the risk of war? Humans are reckless, but not stupid."

Hackett looked at her, then at John. "Mr. Wi..Winston. There is a term you may have come across in your historical research. It's been treated as a spook story, but I assure you that it is very real. What the batarians were working on in the Vana facility can be described with one word. _Reaper_."

* * *

Mackie squatted on his heels and glared angrily at the Mediterranean. He hugged his knees to his chest and felt a squirming fear in the pit of his stomach. "The whole Reaper thing is bullshit, you know." He stood and kicked at a nearby pebble. The little bit of violence didn't make the fear go away.

"That is the official story," replied Prasad. The man stood with his hands clasped behind his back. He looked for all the world like a professor taking an afternoon constitutional on the beach. The Admiral and Mrs. Carmichael had gently shooed the rest of them out of the villa so that they could discuss business in peace. Persephone stood behind Mackie and glowered at John, who was walking further along the beach and skipping the occasional stone into the water. Camicia was sitting on the other side of Prasad, whittling a piece of driftwood with a very big knife and casting meaningful glances at Persephone as she carved the wood. It was clear that the turian would rather be using her knife on somebody else.

"Just drop it," Persephone finally said to the turian. "I was asked to get you, I got you. It was a job, it was nothing personal."

"I take guns in my back very personally, sister."

"Oh, you mean this gun?" The elegant little pistol was suddenly back in Persephone's hand, and before either Camicia or Mackie could react she pulled back its slide. No heat sink popped out. "You mean this _completely unloaded_ gun? You were never in any danger. Mrs. Carmichael wouldn't allow it."

Camicia stared at the gun, then up at Persephone. "Oh. Your boss must not like you very much."

The asari rolled her eyes. "How I wish it was just that. No, Mrs. Carmichael now has an inflated sense of my abilities. No thanks to _him_." She pointed a thumb at John's strolling back.

* * *

John decided he'd had enough solo walking. He turned around and came ambling back to their little group on the beach. He threw away one final stone and looked at Persephone. Her violet eyes glared back at him. She actually looked intimidating, which he thought was a pretty good trick for somebody who looked like a blue-tinted version of Audrey Hepburn.

"Miss Persephone, I sense you're pissed at me. Why is that?"

"You just had to go and be interesting, didn't you?"

John raised one eyebrow in amusement.

"It's not funny, _Winston_. After you left for Barcelona, I couldn't get your mysterious behavior out of my head. So I went digging in the Organization archives. The _old_ archives."

"Oh."

"Damn straight, 'oh'. And I was careful to cover my tracks. Goddess, was I careful. But of course, I'm dealing with Mrs. Carmichael so 'careful' wasn't enough. I swear, that woman could give a Matriarch a run for her money."

"She found out about your digging."

"Yes, _Winston_ , she did. I get called into a meeting with her, and suddenly Jackson is standing behind me and I think I'm about to get revoked. But no, I went and got promoted. She actually praised my initiative."

Mackie gave her a wary look. "And you're angry about that?"

"I liked Prague!" yelled Persephone. "It was a nice city, exotic but not too dangerous. There were lots of cute humans running around to play with. I had a steady job with just enough spice to keep it from getting boring. Now I'm running around trying to wrangle dangerous turians with a goddamn unloaded gun."

Camicia looked smug when she heard the 'dangerous' part.

Mackie spread his hands out. "Well, lady? Don't keep us in suspense. What did you find out? Hell, we're learning all sorts of Alliance secrets today. We may as well add some Organization ones to the mix."

Persephone nodded towards John. "I think _he_ should be the one to tell you. That's only fair."

They all looked at him. John actually felt a little bit of weight drop from his shoulders. It would be nice to give up the pretense, at least with some people. He looked down and picked up another flat stone. "My name isn't Winston. Big surprise, I know. My name's Wick. John Wick." He turned and skimmed the stone. Five skips, a new record for him. "I was born September the second in the year 1964, to American parents living in Beirut. But I grew up in New York City."

There was a little silence.

"Bullshit!" said Mackie. "You ain't that old."

"He is," said Persephone. "At least chronologically. The Organization had access to cryogenic suspension that far back in your history."

"Fascinating," said Prasad. "There were hints that the technology was developed earlier than commonly thought. But to get frozen in the early twenty-first century?" He shuddered a little. "It would have been a primitive procedure. I'm amazed you took the risk."

John stuck his hands in his pockets and looked out to sea. "Well, the risk paid off. I'm here, after all."

"But why?" asked Mackie. "What was the plan?"

"There was no plan," replied John. "I was just a contingency."

"John was one of the Org's top operatives," added Persephone. "Perhaps _the_ top operative. Management decided that it would be wise to keep him available, should something really big arise in the future."

Mackie hugged himself. "Okay, but it still stinks that they made somebody give up their life like that."

"I didn't mind," said John. "I didn't have a life any more."

There was another, longer silence.

John bent down and retrieved another stone. "So. Now that everyone knows how long I've been out of the loop, maybe one of you can tell me something." He only got three skips out of this one. "Are there or are there not giant robot squids coming to destroy us all?"

Mackie held up his hands as if to push something away. "It's bullshit, a rumor that got out of hand. There are these robot guys called geth. They got kind of uppity-"

"Uppity?" interjected Persephone in disbelief.

"-and they launched an attack on the Citadel. That's the big-ass space station that holds the galactic government-"

"I know, Mackie." John smiled over his shoulder at the young man. "I have been doing _some_ reading."

"Right. So anyway, the main ship the geth used in the attack was big. Really big, a couple of kilometers long. The rumor got started that it wasn't geth, but something else. Originally they were saying it was a Prothean relic, some were saying it was older than that. Then they were saying that it was actually a member of this race of machines that supposedly wiped out the Protheans."

"The Reapers," said John. He looked down for another stone.

"Yeah, them. It was just a rumor, though. The Council said so."

"Some didn't think it a rumor," said Prasad. "Shepard believed that the Reaper threat was real."

John Wick had definitely read about a certain John Shepard, the first human Spectre and "The Hero of the Citadel". The man seemed tailor-made to be an icon of humanity's heroic future. He'd even been born in space, as if to show that mankind was truly worthy of joining the galactic brotherhood. The Alliance had used his image and his voice shamelessly after the geth defeat.

And then, eighteen months ago, Shepard had died in a surprise attack during a routine patrol. The Alliance didn't use his face anymore.

"Shepard was a bad-ass, yeah," said Mackie. "But you know, there were rumors he'd had his mind messed with by old Prothean technology." He narrowed his eyes at Prasad. "So, Mister All-Knowing Super Analyst, what do _you_ think?"

"The information I have is inconclusive," replied Prasad. "But Admiral Hackett has access to knowledge that I do not. And he is convinced that the Reaper threat is real. The Council and the Alliance high command, however, do not agree. Part of the reason for the Vana raid was to try to get hard evidence that would convince them all."

Persephone snorted. She somehow made it sound ladylike. "And now the humans are facing war with the Batarian Hegemony over it."

"I make no judgement as to the raid's correctness," replied Prasad. "I am only stating the reason for it."

They all stared out to sea. The sun sparkled on the waves as a seagull called in the distance. It really _was_ a beautiful day, thought John. He should try to remember this moment going forward.

"We're going to get sent after Okuda, aren't we?" he said aloud.

"What's this 'we' shit, old timer?" replied Mackie.

Camicia stood and sheathed her knife. "You think Hackett is going to let any of us slip away? He was seriously thinking about killing that contact in Barcelona." She folded her gauntleted arms and breathed out with a fatalistic air. "Mrs. Carmichael seems to be in agreement with him as well. No, we're all in this to the end."

"Fuck." Mackie thought about it a bit, then brightened a little. "Well, at least it should be an adventure, right?"

Persephone shook her head. "I've got dresses older than you, kid. I've been in my fair share of adventures, so trust me when I say that they are over-rated." She rubbed her crest tiredly. "And now I'm getting thrown right back into one. Like you said...fuck."

* * *

Benton was strapped to a chair, that much he knew for certain. The rest was...vague. He remembered heading out of The Pantheon Lounge and remembered some shouted warning from his bodyguard. After that, it was all a blur. His head hurt, but it was a vague and diffuse pain. That probably meant he'd been hit with a sedative, not just smacked in the head.

The room he was in was big and mostly dark. There weren't any walls that he could see. Apart from his chair, the only other furniture was a table and chair set directly in front of him. There was a pair of empty manacles set into the table, similar to those that held him in the chair. His head was bound tightly enough that he could only swivel his eyes.

The only source of light in the room's black expanse was a dull red glow that seemed to come from somewhere behind his chair.

"Hey!" he yelled. "I don't know who you guys think you are, but you're in big trouble. I got people looking for me right now. You can't just grab a guy like me off the street."

"Oh, but we can, Benton," said a voice from off to his right. A man walked into his view. It was Leng, one of the Cerberus people that had been at the auction. He lounged in the chair at the other side of the table and gave Benton a shark-eyed smile.

Benton felt a tickle of cold in his guts. He was being held by Cerberus. "Now, look," he said. "I know you're pissed about the auction. Trust me, I'm even more pissed. I lost a lotta guys, and had to pay off a lotta cops to keep it all quiet."

Leng took out a knife and began to clean his nails with it. Benton recognized the weapon. It was his, after all. "You, ah, like the knife?" he asked Leng.

The Cerberus operative nodded and gave another smile. "You have a good eye for steel." He stood again. "But in other areas, your judgement is fucking awful." Leng walked around the table and unlatched the manacle holding Benton's right arm to the chair. He dragged the man's arm forward with unexpected strength and pushed Benton's wrist into one of the manacles on the table. He snapped it shut. Benton was now stretched awkwardly forward with his right wrist shackled to the table and his right hand held flat against the tabletop.

Leng gently placed the tip of the knife on the table next to Benton's hand. "Did you ever play Five Finger Fillet?"

Benton could feel the cold sweat behind the band that clamped his head. "Ah, no, can't say I have."

"That's a shame. It's dead simple, and yet quite challenging. I'm very good at it, if I do say so myself. Here, let me show you. Oh, one bit of warning... _don't_ move your fingers." The knife suddenly came alive and tapped out a complicated rhythm on the tabletop, its tip slamming back and forth between Benton's splayed fingers. Leng gave him just enough time to see the pattern, and then he started going faster. Benton's entire worldview narrowed down to the flashing blade and his hand, his pink and oh so vulnerable hand...

He felt a sudden pain. The tip of the knife was a little too close to his pinky finger, and the edge had just grazed his flesh. Benton could see a little trickle of red on the knife blade as Leng picked it up.

"Damn," said Leng. "I don't miss like that. Unless I'm distracted, of course. Would you like to know what distracts me, Benton?"

"Guys fucking up your shit?"

"What a charmingly direct way to put it. Yes, Benton, I get distracted by idiots fucking up what should be a very straightforward transaction."

"It wasn't my fault!" yelled Benton in desperation. "The guys had a coin. What was I supposed to do? I couldn't take the chance of pissing off the Organization. But I did it right, I double-checked. The coin was a fake, and those guys were never with the Org. I gave the order to get 'em taken care of, and next thing I know I've got a slaughterhouse on my hands. The Organization told me they're looking for them as well." He began to feel tears in his eyes. "You gotta believe me, man!"

Leng said nothing. He set the knife on the table and looked behind Benton. There was the sound of soft footsteps approaching.

"So, Mr. Benton," said a new voice. "You are claiming that we've all been taken advantage of." It was a hoarse, almost grandfatherly voice that had clearly seen the other side of a lot of fine scotch.

Benton thought he had been scared before, but now he knew what true mortal terror felt like. He could feel a warm dampness beginning to spread from his crotch. "Oh, shit. Is that _him_?" He squeezed his eyes shut. "I'm not looking, okay? You don't have to kill me for seeing your face."

He heard that whiskey-polished voice give a little chuckle. "Mr. Benton, I assure you that the authorities are well aware of what I look like." Benton heard the soft footsteps approach and then circle the table. "Open your eyes," said the voice.

Benton shook his head as much as he could.

"Open your eyes," commanded that kindly voice again, "or I'll cut your eyelids off with your own knife."

Benton's eyes snapped open. The Illusive Man stood on the other side of the table. He was clad in a plain dinner jacket and trousers. The man's eyes were startlingly blue and much older than his face. His skin was unnaturally smooth and clearly synthetic. He gave Benton a warm smile and spread his arms. "There, that's better. After all, I'm not really _that_ scary, am I?"

"...no..." whimpered Benton.

The Illusive Man clasped his hands behind his back. "Mr. Benton, I hope you can appreciate our dilemma. I want to believe you. But Mr. Kelso is dead, and he was one of our best people. We are also receiving a great deal of scrutiny from the authorities due to the body count of this debacle. If there a new player out there, we need to know about them. We need to know who these men are." He took two photos out of his jacket pocket and placed them in front of Benton.

"The blond guy is Mackenzie Smith," replied Benton. Now that he could actually tell them something, he started to feel a little better. The Illusive Man actually seemed like an reasonable guy, somebody you could do business with. "He's an info broker and general fixer-type. Not really in the big leagues. I figure he was the one behind the whole scam."

"Perhaps he was. And this one?" The Illusive Man tapped the other photo.

"I don't know. He called himself Winston. I couldn't find a match anywhere. I asked Organization management directly after that whole mess. They denied that he was with them."

"And you believed them?" sneered Leng. He reached forward and adjusted the knife's position on the table.

"I didn't just take their word for it!" Benton could feel that he was very close to simply babbling. "I also know a couple of guys who work with the Org at the lower levels, and they looked into it on their own. I also had a couple of my guys in the police looking into it. There's nothing, it's like this Winston fucker is a ghost. It's like...like he just showed up out of nowhere."

The Illusive Man pinched the bridge of his nose as if to forestall a headache. "Mr. Benton, I'll be as forthcoming with you as possible. We also have our sources. In our case, they are within Alliance Intelligence. They have also come up empty. I was hoping you could help shed some light on this."

"Hey, I _want_ to help you guys." Benton's right shoulder was beginning to ache from being in such a stretched position. "Like I said, I wanna get those bastards too."

He saw The Illusive Man frown a bit and take the seat opposite him. "So you understand that we must be as thorough as possible. We'll need to know the identities of your contacts, both with the Organization and inside the police."

In spite of his predicament, Benton felt a little bit of anger at the man's presumption. "Why?"

"Because we need to make our own inquiries."

"You can't do that!" Benton now felt a little bit of panic. "Those are my people. If a bunch of Cerberus spooks show up and start askin' a bunch of questions then they'll know I gave you their names. It'll be bad for my business! C'mon, you seem like a reasonable guy. Tell you what, I can talk to 'em again while one of your guys tags along. That way everybody's happy. What do you say?"

The Illusive Man nodded to Leng, who walked away from the table and out of sight. Benton sagged in relief. The man across the table gave another raspy chuckle. "'Reasonable guy'. Mr. Benton, have you ever heard of the interrogation technique known as 'Good Cop, Bad Cop?"

"Yeah, sure."

The man smiled. "Of course. An experienced man like you, I'm sure you've been through it many times." He leaned forward. "Unfortunately for you, in this particular case Mr. Leng is the one playing Good Cop."

Fast as a striking snake, The Illusive Man whipped the knife off of the table and pinned Benton's hand to the table with the blade. He smiled into Benton's face as the gangster began to scream.

* * *

 _Terminology: OPSEC = OPerational SECurity._


	7. Selection

John wasn't going to be seeing the Earth again for a long time, even if all went well. He re-checked his bag to make sure he had everything he wanted. The Organization had arranged for someone to retrieve their belongings from the hotel in Barcelona. They had also arranged for a shuttle to take them all to an orbital shipyard that Hackett had recommended.

He picked up his bag and joined the rest of them in the foyer. It looked like everyone was traveling light. Even Persephone had only one bag, and she had traded in her usual dress for a form-fitting black-and-white jumpsuit. He did his best to not stare at her. The jumpsuit was _very_ form-fitting and Persephone was in excellent shape. Mrs. Carmichael and Admiral Hackett were standing next to each other near the door. John amused himself by thinking of them as an old married couple sending their children off into the cruel world.

"Well, my dears," said Mrs. Carmichael, "I wish you all the best."

John gave her a little bow. "Thanks. And I'm sorry about doubting you earlier, ma'am."

She waved it off with a smile. "Exercising your judgement is half the reason I wanted you on this job."

"And your job is simple," added Hackett. "Find Okuda and make sure that his information does not reach the public. Exactly how you achieve that, I leave up to you."

Just outside the door was another scarab-shaped vehicle that was larger and more angular that Camicia's aircar. Persephone slid the side of the shuttle open and they began to enter. John brought up the rear, and he paused before getting in. It hit him like a thunderbolt that he was about to go into space.

He was going into _space_.

"You got cold feet, sugar?"yelled Mackie from inside. "Don't worry, the hamsters told me they can pedal fast enough to get us up there."

John laughed and got in.

There was little to no acceleration that he could feel as the shuttle rose from the earth. It wasn't even as much as a jet airliner during takeoff. But the ground dropped rapidly away as John pressed his nose to one of the windows. The sky overhead rapidly became dark blue, then black. The horizon became a silver crescent and he could see the thin hazy line of the atmosphere. Eventually the arc of the horizon turned into a circle, and he could see the entire Earth. It hung like a fragile blue-and-white ornament in front of him. He blinked away a couple of tears. Helen would have loved to photograph this.

John leaned back and saw that Persephone was watching him with an amused look on her face. He winked at her. "I just wanted to make sure the world was actually round, like they told us back in ye olden times."

"Of course," she replied, and gave him a wink back. He was glad to see that she was getting over her anger about her 'promotion'.

John put his face back to the window, hoping to see more and not caring one bit about looking cool. He was in _space_ , damn it.

* * *

Flying commercial simply wasn't going to cut it. They might need to go places that starliners didn't go, or get there faster than standard flights could manage. Not to mention they might need to get out of some places in a big, big hurry. So they obviously had to have a ship of their own. But that was where the agreement ended.

"I still say a freighter gives us the best cover story," said Persephone. "Nobody looks twice at them." She ducked under a cable stretched across an alley that led to the shipyard's office.

"Wrong wrongity wrong," replied Camicia, as she put out a hand and casually vaulted over the same cable. "Everybody looks at them. Pirates think you're carrying something juicy. Customs agents think you're smuggling contraband and give you a full spirits-be-damned cavity search at any opportunity. And a freighter with no cargo looks all sorts of suspicious."

Persephone looked back at Camicia and gave her a cheeky grin. "Admit it, you just don't want to pilot something slow and plodding."

"Sister, they could paste wings on a brick and I could fly circles around anybody you care to name."

John dodged under the cable as he tried to keep up. It was odd that Persephone, who was the shortest of their trio, was somehow the fastest. Maybe it was another of her 'biotic' powers. He'd read a little about biotics, enough to know that if one's opponent had them it was a real pain in the ass to deal with. He would have to be careful, especially around any asari.

"Why not exploration as a cover?" asked Camicia. "I'm thinking we could pose as a survey ship looking for resources. There are a couple of corporations that we could use for cover."

"Maybe," said Persephone. "But we'd need to have specialized payloads to look legitimate, things like survey probes and scanners. It would be expensive. Not to mention we'll have to pass as scientists and geologists."

John jogged a little to catch up. "I can do that. I've had to act different parts during previous, um, employment."

Persephone gave him a smirk. "I'll bet. But Mackie, as capable as he is, probably couldn't make a convincing scientist. And Prasad is smart, but can he act?"

Camicia shook her head. "Yeah, you're right. And we're most likely going to be hanging around civilized areas, not off in the wilds. Somebody might notice a survey ship that doesn't do any surveying."

John wanted to throw up his hands. He knew the value of keeping a low profile, but a part of him wished they could just buy a damn ship and get going. Actually...that gave him an idea.

"What about a tourist?" he asked.

The two aliens stopped and looked at him quizzically. "A what?" asked Camicia.

"A tourist. You know, somebody independently wealthy who decided that they wanted to go and buy a ship, tour the galaxy, see the sights?"

"See the sights?" Persephone looked almost like she was going to laugh, but then looked thoughtful. "Hmmm, yes. Somebody who buys a small ship and has a crew to tend to him. A rich idiot running around looking at things doesn't have to follow any particular trade routes or look like they're working. It does have possibilities."

"I like it," said Camicia. "Who's gonna play the rich guy, then?"

The two of them looked at John Wick.

He held up his hands. "Ohhh nonono, I'm more the bodyguard type. I work better in the background, anyway. Nathan should be our hypothetical zillionaire." He gestured at Persephone. "Or you, for that matter."

"Why not me?" asked Camicia.

John smiled at her. "Because you're our brave and ultra-capable pilot, who can even fly a brick with wings stuck to it."

"Oh, right."

"And it can't be me," said Persephone. "Asari don't do tourism, at least not like that. We tend to be more nomadic and roaming during our Maiden years. Buying a ship for this purpose is more of a human thing."

"Okay, so it'll be Nathan then." John hoped this conversation would end soon.

"No." A nefarious gleam came into Persephone's eyes. "It'll be easier to set up a fake identity for you. I also think we need somebody more...dashing. Somebody who looks really good in a suit. Nathan is a dear, but he won't cut anywhere near as impressive a figure as you will."

Camicia now got a matching fire in her eyes. "Yesss. I like your thinking, sister. A lonely millionaire playboy, roaming the starways in search of adventure and maybe, dare I say it, love."

John ground his teeth. "This is not a goddamn soap opera!"

They looked at him blankly.

"Or vid, or whatever the hell you call it. I can't..." He trailed off, looking at their hopeful faces. "Oh fine, I'll be the goddamn playboy."

Watching an asari go 'squeee' was an...interesting sight.

* * *

"Earth-clan! It is an honor to provide you with service today!" The tubby volus spread his arms as wide as he could. "I have the finest used vessels... _hissshk_...in human space. Ask anybody, they will tell you to come see Nalack Kin!" Nalack's yellow goggles gleamed in the harsh overhead lighting. It was not a fancy-looking office; this particular volus clearly valued functionality over appearance. John found that reassuring.

"Hello, Mr. Kin. I'm Edward Hadlock." John was sure there were a lot of pissed-off people in Barcelona looking for a certain 'Mr. Winston', so he figured it was a good time to switch identities. A couple of messages to Mrs. Carmichael had resulted in a few additions in the public record for one 'Mr. Hadlock'. He was now listed as the founder of a small arms manufacturer that had been sold for a significant sum to a larger conglomerate.

"A pleasure to meet you. Now, what sort of... _hissshk_...craft are you looking for?"

"Something that has space for five to ten people. Ideally something a little nicer than the norm. I do like my creature comforts, right, Ms. Mellus?"

The turian gave John a sidelong glance. "Of course, sir. Shall I describe our specific requirements?"

John made a vague waving gesture. "Yes, yes, get on with it. It's all so boring, I just want to go look at some ships." If the two women wanted him to play the part of Rich Idiot With No Day Job, he was damn well going to play the part. He heard Persephone give a faint snort of laughter from behind him, but Camica looked unamused.

"Riiight. We need FTL capability, plus the standard jump relay interface systems. Thruster output needs to be at least fifty thousand kilonewtons. And it will have to have a life support and recycling system that can handle both dextro and levo metabolisms."

The volus hummed as he tapped the requirements into a datapad. "Hmmm, yes. You'd like a yacht with speed to spare. I have... _hissshk_...several ships that should fit your needs. Will you be requiring any additional armaments?"

John almost asked _We can get guns on it?_ like an idiot. He then realized that of course they could. After all, space was dangerous and very big. The navy couldn't be everywhere.

"Let's see what you have, then we can discuss options," replied Camicia.

Nalack nodded happily and led them out of the office and into a long corridor which had one side completely transparent. The transparency looked out onto Nalack's shipyard, and John had to fight the urge to again press his nose to the glass. There were so many ships out there! It was a profusion of shapes that made his head swim. But he followed his companions' lead and affected a bored air.

The volus sent a few commands using his omni-tool. Several powerful searchlights stabbed out from somewhere above them and highlighted several of the ships. They all looked to John's eyes like various species of beetle or fish.

"These three should fit your needs," said Nalack. "That gray one is a human-built craft, originally used as a transport for corporation VIPs. _hissshk._ The white one is a survey ship. It would be a little more utilitarian than the first, but still very comfortable and capable. This third one..."

"What is _that_?" exclaimed Camicia. She pointed one taloned finger towards the window.

Nalack looked a little confused. "Er, the survey ship?"

"No, the one next to it." John could just make out the shadowed form of what she was pointing at. It was an angular winged shape, but he couldn't see much more.

"Ah, that ship...*hissshk*...here, let's give you a closer look." The volus touched a few more controls, and there was a distant whine of mass effect fields. The ships gently jostled and moved apart, and the shape that Camicia had pointed out came closer to the window. Another light then shone on it, and John could finally see the craft in detail.

The ship looked like an angry mechanical sparrow. It was about thirty-five meters in length and had a chisel-like prow that added to its aggressive appearance. There were wide, sweeping wings from its middle and a pair of pods at its rear that John supposed were its engines. It was painted mostly white and had red-and-black markings on the wings.

"That's a turian corvette!" The normally relaxed pilot looked like she was going to jump out of her armored skin in excitement. "What's it doing this close to Earth?"

Nalack made a little shrugging motion as he checked his datapad. "That's the... _hissshk_...TSV _Calvenia_. Sold as military surplus. The turian military is upgrading, part of that whole... _hissshk_...human-turian design collaboration that resulted in the SV-1 _Normandy_. They're expanding that program out into different ship classes, starting with smaller ships like the corvettes. There's a lot of these older turian ships on the market, they're starting to show up everywhere."

John could tell that Camicia was aching to get a closer look, but he had to play the part of somebody looking for a yacht. "It's certainly...martial looking, which I like." He winked at Nalack. "I made my money in guns, after all. But I'm guessing it's probably not that comfortable."

"Yes, it is a little... _hissshk_...plain inside. But in very good condition, I assure you."

Camica was damn near vibrating by now, and John finally took pity on her. "I suppose it couldn't hurt to have a look inside," he drawled. "After all, we can always get the interior refitted." She gripped his shoulder, and for one terrifying moment John thought the turian was going to kiss him. Camicia was a lovely person, but she also had a mouth like a cigar cutter.

* * *

The _Calvenia_ had its main airlock located in a raised section on top of her hull, just forward of midships. They boarded through a docking tube, which made John feel a little like a hamster. Nalack had powered up the ship's gravity generators and turned on the interior lighting. Below the airlock was a larger room that looked to be set up as a commons/mess area. Forward of that were six coffin-like pods set in racks, and forward of those was the cockpit. The furniture and the doors were just a little larger than John was used to; this ship had clearly been built to turian scale.

"These pods are the bunks, right?"

Camicia nodded. Now that she was actually on board, she was back to being cool and collected. "The standard crew size is ten to twelve for this type of ship. They use a hot-bunking system."

John walked forward and peered into one of the sleeper pods. He would fit in it with room to spare. He wouldn't mind using one, but it didn't really fit the image of the _nouveau riche_ tourist they were aiming for. He went forward and looked into the cockpit as Camicia loomed over his head. It was larger than he expected, with two stations at the front and one more on each side of the door.

"Let me guess," he said. "Pilot and copilot in the front?"

"Commander and first officer are the proper terms," replied Camicia. "To the right is the weapons officer station, and the left station is propulsion and engineering."

"Hmm. Are we going to need an engineer as well?"

"Probably not. These ships are automated and have limited self-repair capability. If we were heading into ship-to-ship combat, then for sure we'd need to have somebody who can fix things on the fly. Plus we would want more crew to help with damage control. But for right now, the five of us should be able to handle it."

"That's good to know. I'd rather not hire anybody. Hackett won't want any chance of somebody else finding out about our mission."

"I hear you. Hmmmm...let me check something." Camicia squeezed past him and called up the terminal on the weapons officer's station. She scanned through a couple of readouts and made a disappointed clicking noise. "Unfortunate. The mass driver coils have been taken out. Probably done when it was decomissioned."

"What are the standard weapons on a ship like this?"

Camicia indicated below their feet. "There's an axial-mounted mass driver than runs the entire length of the ship. This particular driver was set up to fire both forward and aft. That's the main gun for the ship. Apart from that, there's usually a couple of disruptor torpedoes..." She tapped a few more controls. "No longer installed, of course. There's usually a couple of laser turrets for point defense, but those are gone as well." She leaned back. "The good news is that the armor and kinetic shields are still in place."

In the meantime, Persephone had been pacing out the length of the sleeper pod racks. "I think we can squeeze a few small cabins in this space. Two or three on each side. It'll be a little tight, but it should fit."

John nodded. "That would make it look more like a proper yacht. Let's check aft."

Behind the mess was a large room that contained the ship's drive core. The translucent sphere of the core was very quiet and dark right now, but John was itching to see what it would look like under full power. There was a catwalk along one side of the room that accessed the rear portion of the ship. Behind the engineering space was a hallway with a large storage room on the starboard side and two smaller rooms on the port side. One room had the 'head' and the life support equipment, and the other was a small medbay.

Below the rear hallway was a smaller auxiliary airlock, which led down into a small two-person shuttle. The shuttle was mounted upside down and clamped to the belly of the _Calvenia_ like a remora fish attached to the underside of a shark.

At the aft end of the ship was a space with a large sloping window. John was a little surprised at that. "I didn't think they'd have an observation area on a ship this small."

Camicia pointed at a chair and terminal in the middle of the space. "This is more intended as an alternate weapons officer position. Just in case you need to shoot anybody coming up behind you."

John pondered their options. "Okay. This ship has promise. I like that it's more armored and faster than the others." He grinned at Camicia. "And you won't be banging your head on the doorways like on a human ship."

"It's not just that, John. I was stationed on a corvette just like this during my service. I know this boat inside and out. The other ships here, I can fly 'em really well." She reached out and caressed a nearby bulkhead. "But this old girl...I can make her _dance_."

"I just may hold you to that someday. So those are the pluses. But now for the minuses. It's going to take a good chunk of time and money to get this ship refitted."

Camicia looked thoughtful. "Most of the stuff we're thinking of adding is modular, it should just drop right in. The biggest technical item will be revamping the life support and recycler systems, but that's a standard change. I'm guessing about two weeks time to do it all."

"And as far as money, you let me haggle with Kin about that," said Persephone. "I just did a bit of research, and the market is getting absolutely flooded with these corvettes now. Not to mention it'll be harder for him to sell a turian ship right this close to the human homeworld. I can get this for a steal, if I promise Kin that he'll be the one doing the refitting." She looked around the space and got that evil gleam in her violet eyes again. "And I think this area would make a good main cabin. Our Mr. Hadlock needs his creature comforts, after all."

"I don't think that's needed," protested John. "We don't have an unlimited budget. I can just use one of the cabins we're putting in up front."

"Oh, no, 'Mr. Hadlock'. We must keep up appearances for the sake of our cover story. Trust me, I'll get it done with the funds we have on hand."

* * *

Mackie had almost got the helmet onto his head when the alarm went off. He felt Camicia's clawed hand patting him on the head. "Aaaand you're dead. Yet again." Her flanged voice was sounding more amused each time he failed.

"Dammit, Cammy! Are you making the time shorter?"

Her other hand came into view holding a stopwatch. "Fifteen seconds. That's the requirement in the turian navy for being able to don a pressure suit. It's actually a little bit generous, since the pressure drop during a true emergency is a lot faster than that." The turian looked at Nathan, who hadn't even fastened his suit front. "You are doubly-dead." She then regarded John, who had almost latched his helmet closed. "You, you're not quite dead. But you'll have a good dose of death-pressure damage to both lungs."

She took a breath and looked at the three of them. "Right, let's do it again."

Mackie groused as he stripped the suit off. Nathan was a little slower and clumsier in his movements as he also removed his suit. John didn't say a word as he took off his. The assassin had been in a trance-like state of concentration since they'd started. His robotic expression was actually beginning to freak Mackie out a little. He was beginning to realize that the reason John was so good at killing was that he had practiced really hard at it.

The four of them were squeezed into the rear storage area; it was one of the few areas on the ship that wasn't currently occupied by Nalack Kin's refitters.

Camicia held up a hand. "Okay, now...before we go again, I want you all to focus on _smooth_ movements, okay? Especially you, Mackie. You're trying to be fast and you're jerking too much. Nobody gets this right the first time. Just do it slowly, and the speed will come."

"Slow is smooth, and smooth is fast," muttered John.

"Exactly." Camicia held out her stopwatch. "And...go."

* * *

Persephone looked down at Nalack Kin with a hint of a smile. "Now, Mr. Kin. Exactly how is it that you have turian mass driver components that just happen to match a turian corvette? The Hierarchy wouldn't have sold them."

The volus gave a little cheerful shrug. "You know how it is, Thessia-clan. You buy equipment in lots during an auction, and don't... _hissshk_...realize what's in them until you open the crates up later. I must have gotten lucky."

She smiled wider. "I see. And now you're doubly lucky, because I'm going to take them off of your hands without digging too deeply into their history." It would be a nice little peace offering to Camicia. Persephone knew the turian would be ecstatic about having their main gun operational again.

* * *

The painting showed a foggy cityscape. A half-seen tower on the left side was balanced by an elegant skyway that arched across to the right side of the picture. The more John looked at it, the more brooding and melancholy the image felt. And this was just a projection on the wall of the mess. He was sure that the real thing would have more impact.

"It's very nice, Nathan. But what does this have to do with Okuda?"

Nathan regarded them all with a twinkle in his eye. He was now in his element and getting to _explain_ things. "This was painted by Hamirn Jou. He was the son of a salarian diplomat and moved around a lot as a child. He was, tragically, struck blind at the age of ten in a freak accident. This," he waved a hand at the image, "is called 'Memories of Palaven' and was painted two decades after Jou went blind. Painted from memory, in one go, over the course of two years. And I'll just remind you all that two years is a long time to a salarian."

"Amazing," murmured Persephone.

The analyst nodded. "There are only ten known works by Jou in existence. They are all acknowledged as masterpieces of form and emotion. Each one is effectively priceless."

"Lemme guess," said Mackie. "Okuda stole it."

"The theft does have all of his trademarks. Hints of bribery among the guards, a backdoor into the security system that was planted a week before...it's almost certainly Okuda. He's been stealing art and precious items for a long time, even before he worked with Alliance Intelligence as 'Rumoi'. I've made a study of his career."

"Is this his latest theft?" asked Camicia.

"No. This painting was stolen three years ago during his 'Rumoi' days. It was from the estate of one Octanus Quinian. He's a high-ranking turian who somehow got his hands on an original Jou. The salarians were exerting a huge pressure on him to give it back. After all, it's considered a cultural treasure. But it is also a painting of Palaven, so...Quinian kept it."

John leaned back and crossed his arms. "Why focus on this theft? Three years is a long time. I'm sure the trail's gone cold."

"Ah!" Nathan looked pleased at the question. "Because it appears that after the theft, this painting simply vanished. None of the usual suspects have it in their private collections, and it never showed up on the black market."

"Okuda kept it," said Mackie.

"I believe so," replied Nathan. "Although it does not fit with my mental profile of Okuda. He is usually very committed to keeping his clients happy. But if he was going to keep something, this would be it. 'Memories of Palaven' is considered one of the best of Jou's work. So that gives us two possible approaches. One, if we can somehow track the painting down then we'll find Okuda as well. That's the harder route. The easier route is...well, somewhere out there is a very angry client who paid Okuda half his fee up front and yet never received a painting."

John felt a feral grin on his face. "I see. If we find the client, they'll tell us how to get to Okuda."

"Exactly. I have a few contacts on the Citadel who can help us, so that's where we should start."

* * *

They were taking the ship on a test run around the outside of the shipyard. John was in the copilot...or rather, first officer...seat. He was carefully watching Camicia as she handled the ship's controls. There was no way in hell that he would ever be as proficient as she was, but he wanted to at least be able to move the ship around if need be. The turian had pronounced herself satisfied so far with the craft's handling, but then threw him a bit of a curveball towards the end.

"What about her name? Are we keeping it?"

John hadn't thought about it until now. " _Calvenia_ is a good name. I like the sound of it. Besides, humans are superstitious about renaming ships. It supposedly brings bad luck. What's the turian viewpoint?"

Camicia spun the ship on its long axis and gave a satisfied hum. "That's good. They definitely kept the control thrusters clean. Now, as for the turian outlook upon naming...well, as long as we keep the spirit of the ship alive then the name isn't as important. I looked up the history of the _Calvenia_ ; she saw her crew through combat at the Citadel during the geth invasion. So if we do give her some sort of silly monkey-boy name, it needs to fit with her turian name."

"I can get behind that. So who or what is Calvenia?"

"She's the main figure from the _Calevenata_ , a turian piece of epic poetry. It's set during our Unification War, right when the Hierarchy finally intervened in that whole mess. Calvenia was a diplomat for the Hierarchy and got herself captured by one of the colony chieftains. She's described in the epic as 'beautiful beyond compare', of course. Her mate is one Cavus Barbacius. He's described as a mighty warrior, of course. Barbacius organizes a giant fleet of ships to go get her back. There's a lot of exciting battles and skirmishes that follow. When he does finally fight his way through to the colony, he finds that Calvenia has overthrown the chieftain and subjugated the colony. Calvenia's rescue fleet was supposedly ten thousand ships strong. It's a ridiculous number, but that's legend for you."

John thought for a moment, and then smiled. "Well, there is a similar figure from a very old piece of human literature. I don't think Calvenia would mind sharing a ship with her. And it's a name that I've always liked."

* * *

"Charon Relay Control, this is the Merchant Vessel _Helen Of Troy_ requesting transit clearance."

"Roger, MV _Helen of Troy_ , you are cleared for transit. Please use the standard approach vector to the relay."

"Will do. _Helen_ out." Camicia touched a few more controls and settled back with a satisfied air. "That's it. Another two minutes and we're out of here."

John leaned forward and looked through the forward windows at the distant sculpted shape of the Charon mass relay. "Wow. That's big. And we had no idea this was in our solar system?"

"It was stuck inside of a moon, dude," replied Mackie. "We didn't look for it until the Prothean ruins were discovered." The five of them were squeezed into the cockpit and looking out the large forward window. After all, it wasn't every day you left the solar system.

The relay came closer. John had known it was big, but as the ancient construct approached he got a true sense of the artifact's size. There was a swirling blue vortex in its middle that was constrained by several sets of rotating rings. He found the relay's movements almost hypnotic as they drew closer still. The relay became a giant metal expanse that made their ship seem like an ant crawling on a wall.

The three humans were all staring in wonder. Camicia was, in contrast, all business. "Our approach has begun. Hitting the relay in three...two...one..."

There was a pulse of blue light that surrounded their craft, followed by a quick blur and a sensation that the whole ship had somehow been thrown like a dart by some overwhelming force. John barely had time to tense before it was all over. The ship was now suspended in a glowing purple expanse that looked almost like clouds. As he finally remembered to breathe again, he saw something nudging its way out of those clouds. It was a blue shape with massive vertical fins and a huge gaping mouth. John was reminded of a giant grouper that he'd seen once while snorkeling. "Is that the Citadel?" he asked.

"Nope," replied Mackie. "That's the _Destiny Ascension, t_ he asari super-dreadnought. The human fleet saved her ass during the geth attack." He looked a little smug as he said it.

Persephone shook her head. "Everybody saved everybody else's ass during that battle. The _Ascension_ got in a few big shots against Sovereign during the final exchange."

The giant gaping shape moved overhead as they flew past. The _Ascension_ wasn't as big as the Charon mass relay, but John still felt overwhelmed by the size of it.

Camicia pointed. "There it is. _That's_ the Citadel."

The purple nebula parted, and he saw the five-lobed shape of the Citadel for the first time. And it was at that moment that John Wick finally realized the true scale of his new world.

* * *

 _PS: Wow, just hit 200 favorites! My thanks to you all for the continued interest._


	8. Investigation

Officer Armando-Owen Bailey was having what anyone would call a _shitty_ day. Somehow he'd overslept despite several backup alarms. He had made it to his C-Sec office while managing to dodge the watchful eyes of his turian superiors...only to find out that the one damn coffee machine in the whole damn place was broken. The only other option was the weak brown liquid that the turians were pleased to call a 'stimulant drink'. Those pansy dinosaurians might call it a stimulant, but Bailey considered it no better than dipping a brown crayon in hot water.

It was no use complaining, of course. Turians already considered humans to be insane for drinking the essence of a poisonous alkaloid that would put any other Citadel species in the hospital. Bailey had heard more than one crack about 'monkey-boys with garbage pail stomachs' and knew that he'd get little sympathy for trying to just get one proper cup of coffee.

And then, on top of it all, he was assigned to Intake Detail. The most ass-numbing duty on the whole damn station. After six hours of scanning and stamping, he didn't even see individuals anymore. All he saw was how many were in each group, along with his own private label for them.

Two Heartbreaking Political Refugees.

Three Shady But Not Yet Arrest-able Thugs.

Seven Slow-Ass Volus.

Five Naive Businessmen Looking For A Good Time.

Ten Brick-Stupid Mercenaries.

Six Clueless Tourists.

A human hand set an ID card in front of him. "Hello, sir," said a hoarse and very polite voice.

Bailey glanced up. This bunch he would classify as One Rich Doofus, Complete With Four Entourage. But then he reconsidered. During his years at C-Sec, Bailey had developed a hypertrophied horse-sense of when things were off. This "Mr. Hadlock" character had his ID in order and he looked perfectly calm, but there was still something... _off_. After a little thought, Bailey realized that what had triggered his suspicion was the way Hadlock moved. This wasn't some CEO who had gotten rich sitting on his ass. The man seemed to glide as he walked. Bailey hadn't even realized he was there until he'd put his card down.

Hadlock's companions also seemed normal, or at least as normal as you could get on the Citadel. There was an asari and a turian in the group, which was a little more diverse than he would expect from a rich guy from Earth. And if that asari wasn't an ex-commando he'd eat his shoe.

Bailey sighed internally as he scanned them all in. There was no law against walking in a certain way, or having alien soldiers in your retinue. He gave the group an outward smile and waved them through. "Welcome to Zakera Ward, and to the Citadel."

That was the last interesting group. The rest of his day was a monotone blur that seemed to take forever. Finally, blessedly, it was time to clock out. Bailey had made it as far as the door out of the Zakera C-Sec branch office before he was confronted by a pair of furious blue eyes that glared up at him from under a mop of short brown hair.

"Where is she?"

"Rita, I've put Jenna in the system like I promised. If anybody runs into her they'll have her contact you. We need to wait ten more hours before we can declare her officially missing." Bailey leaned against the door jamb and massaged one temple.

"That's too long to wait! Listen, I know who took her. It was a krogan named Jax. I need to talk to Chellick."

"And what can he do? If Jenna worked for him in the past-"

"She did!"

" _If_ she did, then Chellick can't do anything official. He certainly can't do anything like organize a sweep through Zakera Ward. Which is what we'd have to do at the moment, unless we get more information." Bailey patted Rita on the shoulder. "And maybe she's just out having fun. It's only been ten hours since you saw her last."

Rita shook her head. "No. She missed the start of her shift. Jenna is a little...flighty, but she's not that out of it." She gripped his arm, and he could feel that she was trembling. "Please. I just know something's wrong."

Bailey didn't want to meet her eyes. "I wish I could help. Look, I'll tell Chellick myself about Jenna. He's got a lot more pull than I do, maybe he can do some digging on the sly."

She dropped her hand. "Do you think he'll really do anything?"

"Sure he will. If he thinks there's a danger, then he'll act." Bailey thought of Chellick as a bit of a cowboy, but he also knew that the turian intelligence officer wasn't callous.

* * *

Rita wanted to get drunk, but that would do nothing constructive. She couldn't stay at home, either. Pacing around the apartment she shared with Jenna would just get her wound up even more. Her fear twisted in her guts as she paced towards The Fangorn Club. There was no way she was drinking at Flux tonight. She saw enough of that place during her day job, and right now it would just remind her again of her missing sister.

The Fangorn was quieter than she expected. The bar was a large rectangle set in the middle of the room, but only had a few people clustered around it. She bought a beer and sat far away from everyone else at the bar. Rita had gotten very good at the 'go away' body language in her job at Flux, and she wasn't bothered by anyone as she sipped her drink. That was good; if anyone tried to hit on her right now she'd probably bite their head off.

Jenna had been nervous during the last few days. A few years ago, she'd hinted to Rita that she had indeed been working for C-Sec as an informant. But Jenna had also said that she was done with that forever. After that, Jenna had gone back to being her usual bubbly self, up until the calls started a few days ago. Rita had seen the first one, right during their shift at Flux. Jenna's omni-tool had lit up as if someone was calling her, but no one responded after her initial 'hello'. The calls kept happening, and that wasn't all that had happened. Strangers began hanging around their shared apartment. There were turians and humans that she'd never seen before, just...standing there, as if looking for someone.

Rita had finally confronted Jenna last night. Her sister had admitted that she maybe recognized a few of the loiterers. She had then muttered a name to Rita. There was a krogan named 'Jax' whom she'd been gathering information on during her time with C-Sec. Some of the strangers might be Jax's men. That confession had been ten hours ago. When Rita woke up this morning, Jenna had left for her shift at Flux. She'd never gotten there.

The door to the club hissed open, and three people came in. One was a taller man in a black suit. He had a shorter, dumpier-looking man on one side and an asari in a black-and-white-clad jumpsuit on the other. The shorter man nodded towards a table behind Rita. There was another human already sitting there who apparently recognized the man. The man at the table stood and shook all three of the newcomers' hands.

Rita turned away. The fear and anxiety churned in her guts again. Anybody here could be in on it. Someone could be watching her right now, and she would have no idea. Jenna could be seriously hurt or worse right now, and she had no way to help her. Rita had been careful to keep an eye out behind her as she walked here, but hadn't seen anyone following her.

The door hissed again, and a turian walked in. Rita's beer froze halfway to her lips. The tribal markings on the turian's face were identical to that of one that she'd seen yesterday near her apartment. She finished taking her sip as she tracked the alien with her eyes. The turian went to the far side of the room opposite Rita's position at the bar and greeted another turian. Rita stared at him over the rim of her glass and tried to determine if this was indeed the same person that she had seen earlier. After much reflection, she decided that it was. She set the glass down on the bar and tried to calm herself.

Maybe she could call Bailey? But even if he was willing to come and help her confront the suspect, she had no idea where he lived. The turian could be long gone by the time he got here. Rita took a larger sip. No, this was a lucky break for her. She had to take advantage of it now. The image of a beaten and bloody Jenna rose in her mind, and her face set. Her sister was in danger; she _had_ to act. She tossed down the rest of her beer and started to get up.

A hand gently slapped onto the bar next to her, and she jumped a little. It was the tall man in the black suit. He smiled at the bartender. "One burbon, one martini, and one delrach brandy." The salarian behind the bar nodded and began preparing the drinks. As Jenna continued to rise, the man in the black suit muttered to her.

"Don't do it."

She glared at him. "Excuse me?"

The man in black gave the barest of nods towards the turian across the room. "You've done nothing but stare at him since he came in, and not in a nice way."

"It's none of your business." She got up and began to move around him, but he gripped her shoulder before she could get out of his reach. She tried to jerk away from him, but she may as well have been chained to the bar for all the good that did. His grip was not painful, but definitely stronger than she was.

He smiled at her, but his dark eyes were not friendly. "He has at least one concealed weapon on him, and you're getting ready to try something foolish."

Rita almost spat in his face. "None. Of. Your. Business."

"I have a meeting going on that needs to continue without any distraction. That makes it my business." He paused, and the hard look in hie eyes softened. "What's going on?"

"Nothing that concerns you."

"You don't seem the criminal type, but you were about to try confronting a dangerous one. That means you're desperate."

"It's..." She trailed off. Ordinarily, Rita would never have even thought about confiding in a stranger. But the churning fear in her stomach seemed to speak for her and it all came out in a rush. "My sister's missing. I think she's been kidnapped or worse. That guy has been hanging around my apartment, I thought he might know something."

The man in black nodded. His drinks arrived, and he let go of her shoulder. Rita almost bolted, but something in his manner stopped her. He turned to look at her with another piercing stare, but this time it was a concerned look that somehow made her feel that she could trust him. "Tell me everything."

* * *

Persephone wondered where the hell John had got to. Nathan's contact had given them what information he had and had already left. She twisted in her seat and saw him chatting with a short-haired human woman at the bar. For a brief moment, she felt an irrational surge of anger followed by an impulse to go over and scare off the other female. Then she collected herself and turned away. The man had been through a lot in the last few weeks, and if he had a chance for a little...recreation then he should take it. It wasn't as if she had a stamp on John's ass to claim him. And she was damn near a matron, after all. She wasn't some flighty maiden panting after some childish crush.

Persephone glanced back over her shoulder and saw the short-haired woman leave. John brought the drinks over and smiled a little sheepishly. "Sorry about that. Did you get what we needed?"

Nathan nodded in satisfaction. "We now have the names of three collectors that could have hired our man. I have one other person to meet, and then we'll be able to get started."

"Okay. Are we meeting them here?"

"No, that will be in about..." Nathan glanced at his omni-tool, "one hour, at a place called Flux."

John took a large gulp of his bourbon. "Actually, I don't think you need me tagging along for that one."

"Oh?" asked Persephone. She knew where this was going, and resisted the impulse to give a smug smile.

"Yeah, I might take a walk around. It's my first time here, you know."

Nathan shrugged. "Sure, that should be no problem. Ah, as long as Ms. Persephone is there. I would prefer some protection, just in case. I don't want a repeat of Barcelona." He shuddered a little.

Persephone patted the analyst's hand, and then grinned at John. "I'll look after Nathan. And yes, John, you should take a break. Walk around, see the sights, perhaps run into a certain girl with short hair...?"

John actually blushed a bit. She wouldn't have thought it possible. "Ah, no that's not what you think it is. She just needs a little help..."

"Ah, help." This time she couldn't resist giving him a big exaggerated human-style wink. "I did think her clothes looked a little too tight. I'm sure you can give some help with that."

He ran a hand through his hair. "No, it's just-"

"Relax, John. I'm just messing with you. Go have some fun."

John got a set look on his face and stood. "I will. See you back at the ship." He followed a turian out of the bar.

* * *

Numelus kept the human woman in sight with no problem. On her trip to the club, she had given him a bit of trouble by looking behind herself at every opportunity. But he'd managed to avoid being seen, and now it was even easier. Rita wasn't even stopping, let along looking around.

This wasn't the route back to her apartment. Numelus figured that Rita must be trying to find someone who would help her. He had watched as Bailey, the C-Sec stiff, had given her the brush-off. Numelus had thought that the tall guy in the black suit back at the Fangorn Club might be an associate of hers, but it looked like the man had just been trying to get her number.

The woman stopped in the middle of a thoroughfare and opened her omni-tool. Numelus ducked into the mouth of a nearby alleyway and peeked one eye around the corner. She was just standing there, as if she was sending a message.

He edged back from the corner a little...and then felt a blow on the back of his neck that slammed his face back into the unyielding metal wall. Numelus ignored the quite amazing pain along his face as he rebounded. He spun around with one arm out as he tried to backhand his attacker, but only hit air. The turian got just a glimpse of a dark humanoid shape before the edge of a hand slammed into his trachea. Numelus gasped and tried another feeble swing, only to feel the other man grab his arm and throw him over one black-suited shoulder and into the pavement. He was face down with his arm twisted behind him awkwardly. Numelus croaked as he felt a knee settle onto his back.

The turian tried to twist his head up as far as he could. He stopped when he felt a very cold and pointed pressure on the back of his head, just below his crest.

"There's a knife at your head," said a male voice. It sounded almost robotic in its lack of emotion. Numelus saw a pair of shoes walk around the alley corner, stop, then walk towards him.

He heard the voice of Rita. "Holy shit."

"Take a look. Make sure it's him."

There was a brief pause. "Yes, that's the one I've seen around our apartment. Jenna told me he works for Jax."

Numelus had enough of his breath back to try to talk. "Hey, I don't know what-"

"Shut up," said the emotionless voice. "We know you work for Jax. And I saw you following this woman. No more bullshit. We ask, you answer. Or I get to find out what a turian's brain looks like."

"Where's my sister?" asked the woman. It almost sounded like she was on the verge of tears.

"I don't know-" Numelus felt the point of the knife sink ever so slightly into the pebbled skin at the base of his skull. "I really don't! Do you think we'd be following _you_ if we had her? We hoped you'd lead us to her."

The point of the knife stopped moving.

"That makes sense, actually," said Rita.

"Why is Jax after her?" asked the man.

Numelus didn't even think about lying. Somehow he suspected the man kneeling on his back could smell deception. "Jax was sent away for a bit. He was charged with trading in illegal weapons mods. His lawyer claimed entrapment and got the sentence reduced, and Jax just got released. He figures that somebody ratted him out, and he wants payback."

"Why does Jax think that Jenna is the one who did it?" asked Rita.

"He's got an inside guy at C-Sec. They got access to C-Sec's informant files, and she was listed as somebody assigned to Jax."

Numelus felt the knife point twist slightly. "Who's the mole?"

"I don't know, please, I wasn't told, Jax doesn't tell us everything..." Numelus waited in terror, sure that the last thing he would feel would be the knife driving home into his head.

But it didn't happen. "Where is Jax?" asked the man.

"I.." Numelus didn't know what to do. If he gave up Jax, the krogan would have him killed sometime soon. And if he didn't give up Jax, then this man would kill him right now. _Right now_ won out over _maybe sometime soon_. "He's in a building across from the Saerhow Restaurant. It's on the spinward side of Zakera Ward from here."

"I know where that is," said Rita. "I can show you."

"Go," said the man. Numelus saw her shoes walk back out into the street and out of sight. He knew he was going to die. There was no way this man would let him live now.

"Now listen," said the man. "I'm going to get up and walk away. You may feel like trying to engage in a little payback. That would be a very bad idea."

And just like that, his arm was released and he felt the knee and the knife removed. Numelus waited a moment, then very carefully rolled over. He saw nothing but an empty alleyway. It was as if he'd been attacked by a ghost.

The turian slowly picked himself up. He thought about warning Jax, but that would also mean he would have to admit he'd given up Jax's location...no. In this case, the smart thing do do would be to run like demonic spirits were chasing him.

And so that's what he did.

* * *

Rita leaned into the aircar and tapped in an address. "That will take you to within two blocks of the Saerhow."

"Thank you," said the man in black. His voice was no longer the cold machine that she had heard in the alleyway. "Go home. Try to get some sleep. Get in touch with that C-Sec guy in the morning. It will all be over by then."

"Are you sure I can't come with you? I can at least point out the building-"

"No, it's better if you don't."

Rita gripped the edge of the canopy frame. "I just...I need to do something. I can't sit around and wait."

He nodded. "I understand. But you can't be anywhere near what's about to happen."

She let go of the aircar and stepped back, thinking again of what she'd seen him do in the alley. "What are you going to do?"

"Make it safe for Jenna." She stared at the man in black as the aircar's canopy hinged closed. It lifted off with a gentle whine and then darted away. Rita watched it recede into the distance as she hugged herself. She had never used a grenade, but she somehow had the feeling that she had just pulled the pin on a very terrifying one. One that was about to go off right in Jax's face.

* * *

Jax didn't have a desk. It was a stupid concept from weaker races. A proper leader rules through intimidation, and you can't do that while having a barrier between you and the person you were currently scaring the fecal matter out of. Like, for example, the human he was doing that to at the moment.

Jax loomed over his henchman and growled right in his face. " Tell me why you sent _one_ guy to follow the bitch's sister?"

The human put up his hands in a 'don't eat me' posture. "Numelus is our best at trailing someone. If we put too many guys on the sister, she's gonna see 'em."

Jax snorted and turned away. This room was the biggest in the building, but it was still ratty and far too small. It wasn't proper and fitting to his station. He was going to need better lodgings, and soon. Once he'd shown the rest of Zakara Ward that he was back in town and not to be messed with.

The turian henchman in the room dared to speak up. "We'll get her, sir. She got lucky and was able to dodge us. But she has to be lucky all the time. We just have to be lucky once."

"Too much time!" roared Jax. "I want her skull in front of me inside of twenty-four hours!"

The turian had clearly elected himself as Chief Soother. "We'll do it, sir."

Jax ground his teeth and punched the wall nearest him. The human he'd just been intimidating was in the way of the blow, but managed to duck in time. "Oh, I know you will. Or I'll make soup out of all of you." There were also two salarians in the room, and the four henchmen all stared at him and shrank back a little. Jax gave them all a smug smile. "And yeah, believe me when I say the stories about krogan appetites are true. Has Numelus called in?"

"Not yet," said the turian. "But he might just be stuck in a place where he can't-"

The turian's comm buzzed. "Central, this is Station One, I just heard something. Going to investigate."

Jax looked a question at his henchman. Station One was the sniper's position on the roof.

The turian suddenly looked less confident. "Uh, copy Station One, keep us informed."

There was a long, uncomfortable silence. Jax finally nodded at the turian, who activated his comm with a shaky finger. "Station Six, please check in on Station One."

"Roger, Central," came the reply. Another long silence ensued. There was a burst of static that filled the room. "Central, Six. Found One. He's dead, knife wound to the throat. His rifle's missing-"

There was a choking noise, and the comm shut off. Jax did not survive this long in his life without knowing when to get really serious. "Send the alert, all stations," he said. "We fortify in place here."

Thankfully, there was no backtalk or second-guessing. His men busied themselves with checking doorways and the one picture window while Jax strode to a locker in one corner of the room. He unlocked it and hefted out a seriously large shotgun.

"All stations, report," Jax grated.

There was no reply.

"All of 'em down in three goddamn minutes?" yelled the human. "No way."

"Shut up," muttered the turian. "It's just a-"

What 'it' was nobody would ever know, because the turian's head simply vaporized in a welter of dark blue gore.

"The window!" yelled Jax, and they all busied themselves unloading a truly impressive amount of ammunition into the one outside opening into the room. After the thunderous sound of their shooting died away, Jax held up a hand to make everyone stopped firing. He listened, and heard nothing. He made a motion towards the gaping hole that used to be a window.

The human henchman swallowed hard. Jax motioned again with an additional glare, and the human got low and carefully crab-walked forward to the edge of the opening. He took a very cautious look outside...and made a shocked squeak. The human stiffened and was suddenly yanked over the edge of the opening. He was gone in an instant.

Jax ran forward to the opening and began blasting downward with his shotgun, not even bothering to aim or look for targets. He stopped after ten rounds and finally looked down. He could see the spread-eagled shape of his henchman on the pavement six stories down. The figure had a spreading pool of red around him. But there was nothing else in sight, in any direction. He backed away from the edge and motioned towards the other door out of the room. He and the two salarians backed carefully into the next room, which had no exterior windows. The only other exit out of the room was an elevator that led down into the basement garage.

They waited. There was no sound for the longest while. Jax debated on the merits of trying to make a break for it. It would expose him, but it would also be a way to make their assailant show their hand.

There was a slight rattle from the room they'd just left; it sounded like a small metallic piece of trash being kicked. Jax and his two remaining henchmen didn't need any other invitation to again unload an impressive volley through the door and the walls around it. After a while, Jax again held up a hand and they ceased fire. There was another long silence.

"Maybe we-" began one of the salarians, before a welter of yellow-green blood erupted from the front of his head. Before Jax could turn, the other salarian was dead as well. The krogan had time for one panicked thought-

 _The elevator!_

-before a shot slammed into one of his elbows and destroyed it. He bellowed and spun, trying to fire his shotgun one-handed towards the now-open elevator doors. He didn't hit anything before another shot took out his other elbow. Jax's weapon clattered to the ground. He hunched his shoulders and began to charge-

His knee exploded, and his charge turned into a tumble. Jax caught a glimpse of a black-clad shape vaulting over him before another shot destroyed his other knee. It was the most pain he'd ever experienced in his life. Jax croaked and rolled over as he felt two more shots slam into his torso. He tried to breathe and collect himself as he lay on his back. He was krogan, he could survive this and much worse.

"I've made a study of your race," said a hoarse, emotionless voice from the darkness. "A lot of reading."

"Hrrr...I'm gonna crack your bones for my stew, you-"

There were another two shots, one through each shoulder. Jax roared with the pain.

"Impressive," said the robotic voice. "Redundant organs. Wish I had that."

Jax didn't waste time with a reply. This bastard wanted something, or he would have simply put a shot through his headplate. Jax heard the other walking around him. There were three more shots, each into a selected area of his torso. He now didn't have the breath to roar anymore. The black form stalked closer, and he heard the dry metallic sound of a switchblade knife coming out of its handle. Jax tried to twist, to move, but his arms and legs wouldn't respond.

"You know one thing I read?" said the voice. Jax felt a light tapping on his headplate from the knife blade. He drove his head forward, hoping to strike something. Of course, he hit nothing. Another bullet went through his neck, and he gagged with fresh pain.

"Naughty little krogan."

"I'm gonna-"

Jax stopped as he felt the tip of the knife slide under the edge of his headplate.

"I read that you guys _really_ like your headplates. You want to keep yours?"

The krogan felt a sudden icy fear. Whoever this was, they would rip his manhood from him without a second's pause. "What...what do you...want?"

"Your C-Sec contact." There was no give in that dry robotic voice. Jax did what any krogan would do in that situation.

He survived.

* * *

Bailey looked at Chellick in disbelief. "You found him _where_?"

"In one of the ponds in the Presidium. He had my name spray-painted on his chest." The detective flipped a photo of a horribly wounded krogan onto Bailey's desk. The man studied it with increasing discomfort. Somebody had just nearly killed Jax. The famed krogan toughness was the only reason he was still among the living.

"It's all over the news, of course," continued the turian. He cleared his throat. "So, you don't know anything about this?"

"I-," Bailey began, and then stopped. He knew he had to tread very carefully here. He was innocent, but he also had to convince Chellick of that. "No! Why would I?"

"You were the one who told me that this Jenna person had disappeared, and that her sister had said a krogan named Jax was maybe responsible." Chellick tilted his head. "And then eight hours after you come pounding on my door about it, Jax is found shot to bits and floating around in one of the most high security areas on the whole spirits-be-damned Citadel." Chellick raised a mandible in a questioning manner and stared fixedly at Bailey.

"Sir, I really am flattered that you think I would be capable of something like this. But no, I don't know anything." Bailey paused and decided it was worth digging deeper. "Has he said anything?"

"Of course, he's been babbling like an asari hooker. Something about a demon in a black suit that killed all of his men. He also told us where his crew had been holed up."

"And?"

Chellick scratched his ear, a gesture that Bailey knew meant that the turian was deeply troubled. "We found them, or what was left of them. It was a slaughterhouse. Ten dead. As near as we can tell, the only guns used were those that the criminals themselves had. I'd almost say that it looked like they fought among themselves...except that two of them were taken down with a knife. We haven't been able to find any weapon that matches the wound patterns of the two knife attacks."

Bailey slumped back in his chair. Somebody had walked into a building full of hardened criminals and taken them out...armed with nothing but a fucking _knife_? His shocked face must have convinced Chellick of his innocence, because the turian grunted in approval and pulled up a nearby chair. He sprawled in it and regarded Bailey with weary blue eyes.

"Have you heard from Rita, actually? It would do my heart good to know that Jenna is safe."

In the blur of activity that morning, Bailey had almost forgotten about Rita. "Crap. Yes, I was going to call her. Actually, I half expected her to be here this morning-"

"Hello!" The voice was feminine and all too cheerful. They both looked over at the two human women standing next to Bailey's desk. Rita gave both policemen a sunny smile and indicated a very sheepish-looking Jenna standing next to her.

"The prodigal sister returns," said Rita in a happy yet bitchy tone. "It turns out that s _omeone_ decided to go off and have herself a little fling with a, who exactly was it, sister...?"

Jenna gave a little embarrassed grin. "He was a turian diplomat. Not a major one, but-"

"Ah, that's okay," said Bailey, hurriedly. "As long as you're okay, that's enough for me." He gave Jenna a bit of a glare. "But you really had your sister worried, you know."

"I do know. I'm so sorry...but you know how you can sometimes lose all track of time?"

"Yes," said Chellick in a dry tone, "I'm sure I can relate to that. I'm glad to see you safe, Ms. Jenna."

Jenna gave the detective a little bow. "I really am sorry. I never wanted to be trouble, you know." She extended a hand, and the turian shook it.

"Well," said Rita, "Now that my sibling is done scaring the crap out of all of us, I just wanted to thank both of you gentlemen for your consideration."

Bailey gave them both a smile. "It's really no problem. That's what we're here for. I'm just glad there was a happy ending."

"Yes," replied Rita. "I guess we had a guardian angel this time." She slapped Jenna in the shoulder. "Move it, Little Miss Diplomat-Banger. Let's leave the law to dealing with actual important matters."

Chellick coughed a bit to cover his laugh as the sisters walked away. He looked at their departing backs, then over at Bailey. "I have a game in mind, Officer Bailey. It's called 'What Do I Have In My Hand?'"

Bailey gave him a level stare. "I'm guessing, sir, that Jenna was actually one of your informants on Jax. And that she was nowhere near any turian diplomat while she was missing. And she just shook your hand for no good reason. So, _sir_ , I'm guessing you have a piece of paper in your hand which contains the name of a C-Sec mole."

The turian gave him a wide and very toothy smile. "An admirable logical inference, Officer Bailey. Or should I say _Captain_ Bailey?"

Bailey suddenly felt a little dry in the mouth. "Well, sir, you might want to read that name before saying such a thing."

Chellick slapped a taloned hand onto Bailey's desk. "No, somehow I don't think this is your name. Shall we read this piece of paper together, _Captain_? I can always use more people that I can trust."

* * *

The crew were all gathered in the _Helen's_ mess, and each was engaged in some pastime while the ship made the transit to Sur'Kesh. Persephone was a little bored at the moment, so she was flicking through news items from the Citadel. Mackie and Nathan were scrolling through the dossiers that they'd picked up on the Citadel and discussing the best ways to approach each potential lead. Camicia was playing some sort of flying game. Persephone was sure that, if asked, the turian would declare that it was a combat sim. John was cleaning and cataloging their various weapons. For once, the assassin wasn't wearing his dark suit and was instead wearing blue sweatpants and a white tee shirt. It was a bit strange to see the fearful figure of 'Baba Yaga' looking like somebody getting ready to do chores around the house.

One news item caught the asari's eye. Something about a minor crime lord who was nearly killed and had his crew wiped out. It was a mystery to C-Sec, although as Persephone read through the story her suspicion arose as to the true culprit. She looked up at John's back with narrowed eyes. There was a little cut on one of his cheeks that she was pretty sure looked fresh. Not to mention a new bruise high on the back of his neck.

"Did she get a little frisky?" she said. John's back didn't even twitch.

"Sorry?"

"Little Miss Short-Hair. Did she bang you around at all? You got a nice little bruise on your neck, there."

John turned his head around and looked at her mildly. "No. Just bumped my head."

"Ah, I see. And that cut on your cheek?"

"Cut myself shaving."

"Of course you did. You should be careful," continued Persephone. "There are a lot of people out there who didn't pay attention to what they're doing. They pay the price for it." Persephone held up her datapad and showed him a picture of Jax floating in the Presidum's lake.

John looked at the picture and then back up at her. "Looks like he doesn't know how to swim." His face betrayed nothing.


	9. Affiliation

Blood dripped off the edge of the knife as Nathan Prasad stared in horror. That was _his_ blood, outside of _his_ body. He could feel more of it running in a warm trickle down the side of his cheek. The pain from the slash he'd just received began to grow. He looked up into Benton's leering and piglike features and knew that the knife was going to keep cutting him. His blood was going to keep flowing, he was going to lose it all, and nobody knew to come rescue him...

Benton leaned closer. "Wake up, dude,"

Nathan started, and the nighmare blew apart. He was in his little cabin on board the _Helen_ and Mackie was shaking his shoulder.

"I said wake up. You were yelling. I'm only a couple of meters away from you and the soundproofing isn't perfect, you know?"

Nathan felt his heart rate slow. "My apologies. It was just a bad dream."

Mackie sat on the edge of his bunk. "Barcelona?"

He nodded. "One of the curses of having a graybox. You remember everything perfectly, even those things you don't want to. It tends to make both dreams and nightmares more intense."

The young man ran one hand through his spiky blonde hair. "Are you gonna be okay? Or am I going to have to come back in here in an hour or so?"

He felt a guilty twinge. The rest of the crew needed their sleep as well. "I honestly can't say. Normally I don't partake in drugs, but I'm wondering if a sleeping pill would be in order."

"Nah, I got a better idea. Shove over."

"What?"

"Just do it. No funny business, I promise."

Nathan scooted himself to the rear edge of the bunk and Mackie lay down along the front. He grabbed Nathan's arm and draped it over himself as he maneuvered himself next to the analyst.

"There," said Mackie in satisfaction. "Somebody to hold while you sleep. Better than two years of therapy and a sleeping pill. Actually, 'cause it's me it's worth more like six years of therapy."

It had all happened so fast, Nathan hadn't had time to tense up. But now he did. He didn't dare move, and he had his arm hovering a good three inches over Mackie's torso.

Mackie chuckled. "I said no funny business, and I meant it." He tugged Nathan's arm up and tucked it under his own. He turned back to glare at Nathan. "And that goes for you, too. I gotta reputation to maintain. I can't be jumping into bed with any old genius-analyst-spy that wanders along."

Nathan laughed, and finally relaxed. The warmth of someone else against him _did_ feel nice, after all. He drifted off to sleep much faster than he would have thought possible. He had no more nightmares that evening.

* * *

Camicia rolled one shoulder to get the ache out of it. She pointedly ignored the asari's knowing smile while she surfed through the galactic newsfeeds.

"How long?" asked Persephone. She set down her mug of tea and leaned forward, then propped her chin in her hands on the mess hall table.

She glowered up at the blue-skinned smartass. "Never you mind. I'm satisfied that he's rated for hand-to-hand in zero gee. That's all you need to know."

"Mmmm, I see."

There was a long silence in the _Helen's_ mess.

Camicia couldn't stand it anymore. "It's not like you did any better, Little Miss I'm-A-Commando-But-Refuse-To-Admit-It."

Persephone gave a shrug. "Yes, that's true. He pinned me six times out of seven. But I also recall a certain person of the turian persuasion saying that true hand-to-hand mastery could only be determined without the aid of gravity." She gave an evil grin. "No pesky leverage to get in the way of pure skill, were _somebody's_ exact words."

The pilot growled and didn't speak.

There was another long silence. Persephone kept leaning on her hands and gently smiling at her.

Finally Camicia put a hand to her head. "Fine, it took about thirty minutes of me tossing him around in zero gee before he caught on to the concepts. And after that I never laid a hand on him." She rolled her shoulder again.

Persephone, to her credit, didn't say anything else and leaned back. She picked up her tea and took a small sip.

"Spirits, he's fast," muttered Camicia.

"Yep."

"He only knows something like five moves but he can use them like nobody's business."

"I know."

There was a very long silence.

"Glad he's on our side. Spirits preserve us if he ever decides we're in his way."

* * *

John thought that this bit of Sur'Kesh was what an Aztec city would have looked like if updated and modernized. The pyramidal buildings around him were set among lush jungle and looked as if they'd grown out of the ground ages ago in spite of their metal-and-glass construction. The window that looked out over the scene let in the golden glow of the afternoon sun. John glanced both ways along the corridor. Apart from Nathan and Mackie, there was no one else in sight.

"It's nice," he said aloud.

"It should be," replied Nathan. "This settlement has been here for about three thousand years. They've had a long time to get it just right."

"Ah." It was interesting that the city was so homogeneous in appearance when compared with a similarly ancient human city like Baghdad. The salarians must have bulldozed all of the older construction when putting up newer buildings. Or they had picked one style of architecture millennia ago and stuck with it.

Mackie leaned against the wall and gave a bored yawn. "So when are we meeting with this Gelban dude?"

"It should be-" John was interrupted as a salarian bustled around the corridor.

"So sorry to keep you waiting, gentlemen," it chirped. "Please follow me."

The three humans all trouped after the shorter, willowy alien. He led them into a large circular office that had a sunken carpeted area in the middle. A skylight overhead bathed everything in a warm glow. And there was a lot to bathe.

There were many shelves set into the walls around the office, and they were filled with objects. John saw everything from crude stone implements to fine pottery to small statuettes.

The salarian that led them in stepped to one side. "Gentlemen, may I present Atum Gelban."

Gelban rose from his desk. He was short even for a salarian, and some long-ago accident had removed one of his horns. "Mr Hadlock and company, I presume?" His voice was deeper than John expected from such a small body. The salarian tycoon shook hands with them.

"Glad you could see us, Mr. Gelban," said Nathan. "My employer is in the market for artwork. Specifically, artwork of races other than human."

"It's a hobby of mine," said John.

Gelban gave him a little nod. "Artwork is a very general term, good sirs. Could you be more specific?"

"Paintings," replied Nathan. "We were interested to see what you had in your collection-"

"Ah," interrupted Gelban with a smile. "Sorry to be pedantic, but it's not my collection. Everything here is owned by the Gelban Cultural Preservation Trust, not by me. And if you're looking to buy...well, I couldn't sell any of it, even if I wanted to. I deliberately set it up that way deliberately."

"Understood," continued Nathan smoothly. "We're actually not interested in buying, but rather in research."

"There's a lot of salarian art analysis," added Mackie, "but not much done by the salarians themselves. You're one of the few we've found that have any interest."

Gelban shrugged. "It's not a common thing to run into with my people. As a rule, we don't have much interest in preserving or reflecting on our own past." He walked around the desk and over to a small statuette on one of the shelves. It was formed of black obsidian glass and was a weather-worn depiction of a sitting salarian with a swelled belly. It was so eroded that it almost looked like abstract art.

The tycoon picked it carefully off of the shelf. "See this? Felandra, one of the very first fertility goddesses in our mythology. This piece is at least twenty thousand years old. It's a miracle it survived this long." He gently set it back on the shelf. "I found it propping open a door in one of my servant's houses."

Mackie cleared his throat. "Well, even on Earth we have old things being discovered all the time."

Gelban smiled at him. "But when they're found, you at least have museums to put them in. On Sur'Kesh, not so much. If my servant had somehow discovered this piece's worth on his own, he'd have had nowhere to sell it except to some asari or turian collector. And then it would be gone from us." He sighed.

Nathan asked the question that John had been wondering. "So did the servant sell it to you?"

The salarian nodded. "Even after I told him what it was, he didn't truly realize its value. But I think he got a pretty good deal out of it. He's the owner of this building, after all."

John cleared his throat. "I at least want to know what I'm looking for when buying. So it would be very helpful if we could get a look at your collection."

Gelban looked sideways at him. "Well, your donation to the Trust was generous, well beyond that required for a standard tour. But let's be honest with each other. You want to see my _whole_ collection, don't you? Including the Jou."

John shrugged in a sheepish manner, as if found out.

The tycoon looked at his assistant. "Have they been scanned?"

"Of course," replied the other salarian. "There's no weapons or anything else on them, not even an omni-tool."

"We understand it's an imposition," said Mackie with a charming smile. "But none of us have ever seen a painting by Jou in the flesh, so to speak."

Gelban tapped one digit next to his mouth, then appeared to come to a decision. "Certainly, let's go look at it. To be honest, I wish I could display it more openly. But the sheer value of any Jou painting makes it irresistible to criminal elements."

John smiled. "That's too bad."

* * *

They took a private elevator down into a corridor leading to a sparse white room. The walls of the corridor were lined with glass cases that held still more artifacts; paintings, antique weapons, even something that looked like the salarian version of plate armor. John was sure that they were being scanned and monitored in the minutest detail. But he was also sure that any recordings here were kept firmly under Gelban's possession. They should be able to talk more freely down here. Gelban led the way down the corridor. As John came into the room, the tycoon gestured with one sweeping hand at the far wall.

"Gentlemen, this is _Memories of Sur'Kesh_ "

It was smaller than John had expected, barely two feet on a side. But the detail was incredible. It almost looked like a window out onto the city that John had just seen. As he drew closer, he began to feel oddly complacent. It was if he was looking at the place where he'd been born, and was finally coming home.

"Wow," said Mackie. "It's...really good."

Nathan said nothing, his eyes drinking up every brushstroke. John envied the analyst a little at this point; he would always be able to go back to this moment and recall it perfectly.

Gelban smiled. "It is remarkable how comforting the image makes you feel, isn't it?"

"It's a shame that you only have one Jou here," said Mackie. "Is this the only one on Sur'Kesh?"

"It is." Gelban suddenly stepped in front of the painting and faced them with a somber expression. "But somehow, I don't think you're here for that. I've met a lot of art collectors, and you don't seem the type."

Both Nathan and Mackie looked at John, who nodded to them. Mackie sighed and pulled a paper photo out of his pocket. "We're looking for this guy. Keiji Okuda."

Gelban studied the photo but didn't take it from Mackie's hand. "And what is this person to do with me?"

"He's a thief," said Mackie. "Steals stuff like this." He motioned towards the painting.

Gelban gave him a deadpan look. "And why would I know the whereabouts of an art thief? If anything, he'd be my mortal enemy."

"You also were very publicly trying to get _Memories of Palaven_ back from Octanus Quinian." replied Nathan. "He kept rebuffing your offers. And then three years ago _Palaven_ was stolen, most probably by Okuda."

Gelban's mouth set in a furious grimace. "If you're accusing me of-"

"We don't care," interrupted John. "We don't care if you hired a thief or mercenaries or a goddamn marching band. We're not police. We want Okuda. That's all we care about."

The tycoon's grimace softened slightly, and he turned away to regard the painting behind him. "And all I care about is the missing Jou. After the theft I made it known through...certain channels that I would pay anything for it, no questions asked. I came up empty." He looked back over his shoulder. "No, gentlemen, I did not hire Keiji Okuda to steal the painting."

Nathan stepped forward, his eyes fixated on the salarian's face. "That's the truth but not the whole truth. You know something else."

Gelban glared at Nathan.

The analyst smiled. "Did you hire somebody _else_ to steal that painting?"

The salarian said nothing, and stared back with no expression.

Nathan nodded. "You did hire somebody else."

"I don't have to listen to this-"

"We. Don't. Care. If. You. Did." grated John. "If you did hire somebody else to steal the Jou, then that's somebody who could give us information about Okuda. Give us that contact, and we'll be out of here."

Mackie cleared his throat and put on another charming smile. "And besides, if we track down Okuda we just might be able to recover that painting for you."

Gelban turned back to fully face them. "All right. I don't trust you, exactly, but it's worth the risk to recover the last Jou. The person I hired...I don't know their actual name. She's referred to as 'The Ghost', but that might be a little bit of dramatic license on somebody's part. I tried to get in touch with her after the theft. There was no response and very definitely no painting. I'm sure that the channels I used to hire her originally are long obsolete. But certain other inquiries I made have turned up some other contact methods as well as her current location."

"You didn't try to make further contact?" asked Mackie.

The salarian shook his head. "In spite of what you may think, I don't normally deal with thieves. No, once was enough for me. I decided to offer a reward instead, but as I said that hasn't worked."

"We'll be grateful for anything you can tell us," said Nathan.

"Grateful," mused Gelban. He turned and traced one green finger against the wall next to _Sur'Kesh_. "Gentlemen, if you can get me _Palaven_ to hang here, then I'll show you 'grateful'."

* * *

"Good afternoon, Mr. Leng. Forgive me for not getting up, my joints aren't what they used to be."

Kai Leng put on a pleasant smile for the old dingbat. "Of course, Mrs. Carmichael." He sat across the small table from her. This was a cafe that he'd staked out for three days, just to make sure there were no Organization moles on its staff. Right now the place was filled with a bustling midday lunch crowd.

Mrs. Carmichael looked around the sunlit interior with interest. "I don't think I've ever been here before. What do you recommend?"

Leng sat back. "The seafood chowder." So far he wasn't very impressed with the half-mythical figure of Mrs. Carmichael. She seemed like a doddering old aunt, leaning one hand on her cane even though she was seated.

The waiter came, and they ordered their food. Once the man had left, Leng leaned forward. "Thank you for agreeing to meet with me."

"Having your boss make the request made us take notice."

He nodded. "He's a persuasive fellow. And I'm sorry about the restrictions."

"I have to admit, Jackson was not happy about the 'no bodyguards' request. So what can I do for a...a certain mythical hell-hound?"

Leng slid forward a picture of Winston. "This person claimed to be with your Organization. We've been trying to trace his true identity and whereabouts, but so far we've had no luck."

"You wish us to find him for you?"

"It's in your interest as well. After all, you can't have random people claiming to be in your Organization."

Mrs. Carmichael shrugged and suddenly looked bored with the conversation. "True, but that's an internal matter for us to attend to. And if _your_ people can't find him, then what chance does a little group of crooks like ours have?"

"Are you refusing our request?"

"I'm saying there is no point to your request. If you can't find him, then he can't be found."

Leng felt his jaw clench. "Or maybe he _is_ one of your boys."

Her eyes narrowed. "If that was the case, Mister Leng, then we would happily perform all sorts of sham investigating to avoid raising your suspicions. And then we would tell you that, gee whiz, we can't find him either. I'm not going to waste my people's time trying to prove a negative."

He could feel his anger building more. "You think you're so damn smart, don't you? You've got all the angles worked out ten steps ahead of everybody else."

She gave a careless wave with her free hand. "I'm just an old woman. We get tired of doing pointless things."

Leng had been given specific instructions. If the Organization's representative wouldn't play ball with Cerberus, then he had to make an example out of her. Cerberus had to be feared, and there was no better way than a nice show of physical brutality. He gave the old woman his best sharklike grin, the one that unsettled everybody. "You know, if you're tired I could put you to sleep."

Mrs. Carmichael, on the other hand, looked very much settled. "Don't threaten me, young man. You don't want to go down that road."

"Really? Because from where I sit, the best days of your 'little group' were long ago. You've been trading on your reputation ever since, and if you think that we're afraid of you-"

"I know you're not afraid of us," interrupted Mrs. Carmichael. "But that's because you're all too stupid to know better."

Leng didn't have any weapons on him, but he wouldn't need them to take care of this senile old broad. He tensed and prepared to launch himself-

There was a soft, rippling sound that rolled through the cafe. It was a fusillade of safeties being released, of weapons being readied. Leng was suddenly very aware that everybody in the cafe had a gun pointed at him. _Everybody._ The waitstaff, the diners, and then even the cook came through the kitchen doors with a shotgun leveled at him. Leng very carefully un-tensed and stared at the forest of muzzles that blankly stared back at him.

Mrs. Carmichael snorted. "Cerberus. You do like your mythology, don't you?" She stood without effort and stared impassively at him. "Then allow me to explain the situation in those terms. Your people may believe that you are as powerful as the Greek gods of old. But never forget that _we_ are the Titans. And let me assure you that you do not want to incur a Titan's wrath."

She picked up her cane and slammed its head on the table, making him jump a little. "Now fuck off, you little shit."

* * *

Camicia pointed at the map that was overlaid on the cockpit's forward windows. "See, if this 'Ghost' person is on Illium then that's outside of Council space. It's in the Terminus systems."

"And?" John knew that there must be something he wasn't seeing.

"And, it's not patrolled by any navies. It's very dangerous to go through there. You've got pirates, slavers, who knows what running all over the place."

"The Wild Wild West." He idly wondered if he could buy a cowboy hat somewhere. "But we're dangerous too. And we've got at least some armaments on this ship, right?"

"We could probably do okay in a single ship-to-ship battle, yeah. But we could get really banged up in the process. And if we happen to get in another one right after that, well...it could be a problem."

"So we go faster."

"It's going to take about three months to get there, and two of those will be outside Council space. A lot can happen in two months."

He thought back to their conversation when they'd first toured the ship. "We need an engineer, in other words."

"At least. It would be better to also have a couple more hands on board for damage control."

"That definitely won't fly. We need to keep this all on the QT."

"On the what? Oh, quiet. You monkeys and your weird sayings." She shook her head. "But we _are_ going to need an engineer."

"Hmm." John didn't want to just hire somebody at random, no matter how qualified. The _Helen_ was far too small to keep secrets from anybody, so whoever they got would have to know about their mission. And that led to all sorts of complications.

He realized that he was overthinking it, and smiled. In old business parlance, he needed to 'outsource' the problem. "I'm an idiot. I gotta make a call to somebody"

"Who?"

"Hackett."

* * *

Gabriella Daniels kneaded her forehead and stared at the terminal screen. She was tired and pissed. Eight months ago she had lost one of her best friends to Alliance pig-headedness. Oh sure, it was _technically_ because that friend had called Hackett a lot of unprintable things right to the admiral's face. But Marcus had been driven to it by the obstinate refusal of the brass to admit they were all in big, big trouble.

Gabby had offered to resign in protest, but Marcus had told her in no uncertain terms that he didn't want her career ruined as well. The last time she had seen the big lug, she had promised him that she'd keep fighting to get the truth out. And she had tried, she told herself. Really and truly tried,to the point where her own career hung by a thread. There were already whispers of possible disciplinary action or forced medical leave.

But she could only try so much before giving up. And now she sat dejected in her quarters on Arcturus Station with her letter of resignation floating before her on the terminal screen. All she needed to do was press one final button and her naval days would be over. She ran her hands through her short brown hair. Well, at least once she was out of the sevice she could let it grow long again.

"I'm sorry, Marcus," she said, and tapped the 'send' key. The letter blinked off as she sat back. It almost felt like she had jumped out of an airplane with an untrustworthy parachute, and now she wondered where she might land. Engineers were always in demand, she supposed. But where to go? Marcus had wound up in the Terminus systems, in Omega of all damn places. Getting there would be difficult to say the least. But it would be nice to see him again.

Her musing was cut short by a soft 'ping' from her terminal. She read the incoming message with increasing annoyance. Those _bastards_.

It took a little bit of calling around, but she finally found somebody to yell at. "What the _hell_ is this outprocessing nonsense?"

The little image of the woman on the screen shrugged in a bored manner. "New regs. You gotta talk with a counselor before the resignation gets approved."

"Counselor? I said in my letter why I'm resigning. There's no talking that could make me change my mind."

"Hey, it's nothing to me. But if you want yer back pay, you gotta do it."

"Fine." She cut the contact and stormed out of her room. Then she realized she had forgotten where she needed to go and stormed right back in to reread the message. With the proper room location now in hand, she went looking for somebody else she could unload on. Oh, this was going to be so much fun. She wouldn't have to to give a fig about regulations or the impact her words would have on her performance reviews. Gabby was going to make Marcus look like a lightweight in the cussin' department once she was face to face with this so-called counselor.

Gabby found the room without too much trouble. She stood outside the door and took a deep breath. It was a pity the station's doors were all automatic. It would be much more satisfying to fling it open.

The room just had one small table in the middle with a chair on either side. The counselor stood with his back to the door and didn't turn around as she entered. She was surprised to see gray in his hair; she thought that this would be a job for the newbies. As the door slid shut behind her, the man turned around. Gabby froze when she saw his face.

"Engineer Daniels," said Admiral Hackett. "Thank you for stopping by."

Her hand was at her brow in a crisp salute before she had time to think. But now that she _had_ saluted him, Gabby realized that she wasn't sure if she had to anymore.

Hackett gave her an equally crisp salute in return, then dropped his hand and held it out. She took it in a daze.

"On behalf of the Alliance, I'd like to thank you for your years of loyal service. Please, have a seat."

Gabby did so, although she was starting to feel a large target forming on her back. Hackett sat across from her with a pleasant smile on his face like they were meeting at a cafe for drinks. "I imagine that I'm the last person you want to see right now."

"Sir, I am sorry about how things ended with my friend. But I don't hold him leaving against you. And that's not why I'm leaving either. It's...it's personal."

Hackett very carefully set a small box on the table between them and pressed a button on its side. The air suddenly stilled, and it almost felt to Gabby like they had suddenly been squeezed into a phone booth, although the room appeared unchanged.

"We're in a damping field now," said Hackett. "No sound will get picked up by any listening devices that might be in here. There will be no record of this conversation."

Gabby knew the target on her back had just become the size of Arcturus Station. "Sir, I've resigned. If you don't want to accept it, that's fine. But if I'm staying in the navy then I'm staying an engineer. I don't want to get involved in any intelligence operations-"

"The Reapers are real." It was a simple matter-of-fact statement from the Admiral, like 'Puppies are cute' or 'Vacuum sucks.'

She sat in shock for a moment, then felt a furious stream of expletives slam their way up her throat. Gabby managed to put a lid on them before she repeated what Marcus had done just before his exit. "Why you...sir. If you believed that, why haven't you said anything? If you had, Marcus Donnelly might still be here!"

Hackett rubbed his forehead. "In spite of my rank and privileges, I'm still just one man. The Alliance has made its decision, and I have to abide by that. Even if it is suicidal. It's that or I get tossed out on my ear. And then _nothing_ will get done. So I have to be discreet, as you and Mr. Donnelly should have been."

Gabby laced her fingers together on the table to keep herself from throttling the smug bastard. "Understood sir. Just tell me, are you approving my resignation or not? I'm not going to make any trouble for you if I go, I just...can't be here anymore."

The Admiral gave her a smile. "I approved your resignation before we met. But what are you planning to do now that you've left the service?"

She thought about spinning some yarn about settling down and becoming a farmer but then decided to just be honest with him. "I'm not sure. I was thinking of heading out to Omega to visit Marcus, but honestly that was as far as I had gotten."

"Would you like to help me? I have a need for someone I can trust but who isn't on the Alliance payroll."

"Does this 'help' involve doing something about the Reapers?"

"In a roundabout way. I can assure you that it is vital to the Alliance and to humanity. But be warned, it will most likely be dangerous."

Gabby gave him as withering a glare as she dared to. Newly civilian or not, she didn't want to make him too mad. "You know I was on the _Perugia_ during the Battle of the Citadel. If I wanted safe, I would've become a farmer." She paused. "Yeah, I'm in. What do you need me for?"


	10. Protection

"Wecome to the Benning Continental, miss. How may I be of service?"

The pleasant dark-skinned man smiled at her as if she was a long lost friend. Gabby was getting seriously cold feet about this whole business. The hotel was much nicer than anywhere she'd ever stayed in her entire life. The lobby was almost deserted save for a few people scattered here and there among the luxurious, leather-clad surroundings. She had felt their eyes on her as she'd walked in. There was definitely the feel that she was trespassing into somebody else's territory.

She put on a brave smile. "Hi, I hope I'm in the right place. I was told to meet somebody here."

The man nodded his head. "Of course. May I know their identity? I could page them."

Now she felt like an idiot. "Well, I'm afraid I don't know the specific name. I was told to get here ASAP."

"Hmmm. A bit of a conundrum, I'm afraid. You see, miss, we are a bit of an exclusive hotel. I can't let you simply stay in the lobby while you wait for your friend."

Gabby drummed her fingertips at the edge of the marble desktop. Dammit, maybe she'd have to give a call to Hackett. That would look so great, not even making it to her destination before having to ask for help.

Next to her, a hand with neatly manicured nails laid an ornate gold coin on the desk. "It's all right, Minos. She's with me." Gabby started and looked at the lean woman next to her. It was as if she had simply appeared out of nowhere. She was about a head taller than Gabby and had dark brown skin. A neat ponytail of silver-white hair fell below her shoulders. It was difficult to guess her age; she could have been a mature-looking young woman or an well-preserved elder. Gabby could see a faint white scar along one of her cheeks. She was wearing a plain gray suit that looked to be made of silk.

The man behind the desk gave a little bow. "Of course, Ms. Bast. Forgive me. Shall I book a room for you?"

"No, we're heading out," replied Bast. She slid the coin over to Minos. "Our destination is Sur'Kesh. Can you arrange for transportation?"

"Of course, ma'am. The usual bookings?"

Bast nodded and turned to Gabby. "You're Gabriella Daniels?" The woman's eyes were as brown as her skin. She smiled at Gabby, but her eyes remained flat and neutral.

The engineer nodded. "Yes. Call me Gabby, though. Only my mom calls me Gabriella."

Bast smiled wider, and now her eyes did get involved. "Of course, Gabby. Shall we have a drink while we wait for our ride?" The woman gestured off towards the bar.

"Sure," said Gabby. "Thanks for coming to my rescue there. I'll pay for the booze."

Bast gave a little laugh as they walked over. "Sorry, but your money's no good here. Literally." She gave a man at the entrance to the bar another of those large gold coins, and Gabby followed her to a table tucked off in one corner. The bar was just as ornate as the lobby had been. Gabby set her bag down and sat across the table from Bast as a waiter appeared at her elbow.

"A Suntory, please. Neat," said Bast.

"Um, a rum and coke," added Gabby. The waiter nodded and vanished. Gabby looked around with even more trepidation at her luxurious surroundings. This was clearly not anything involving Alliance Intelligence. Was Hackett involved in some sort of criminal enterprise? Had she monumentally screwed up by agreeing to his offer?

"You're safe, Gabby," said Bast. "Especially here. No business is conducted on the Continental grounds."

"I'll take your word for it. It's just, I thought this was going to be something different. Something more like an Alliance-"

"Ah, sorry," interrupted Bast. She held up a hand with a gentle smile. "No details, please. It's better if I don't know. My job is just to get you to your destination."

"And where is that? I guess the planet is Sur'Kesh, but where exactly?"

"Don't worry. I have the exact coordinates, and I'll get you there no problem."

Gabby looked down. "Okay. I'm sorry, I'll try not to be too difficult a piece of baggage."

Bast gave another little laugh. "You're not baggage, Gabby. You're my Ward." Somehow Gabby could hear the capital letter in the word.

She looked up at the silver-haired woman. "What's that? It sounds very um, definite and final."

"It means that I have accepted a contract to protect you to the best of my ability. And that ability is significant, I assure you. Anyone who tries to mess with you is in for a world of pain." Bast leaned forward. "And in the _highly_ unlikely event that someone does kill you and I am still drawing breath, then it is my sacred duty to pull out the still-beating heart of the one who killed you." Bast clenched her fist, and Gabby suddenly saw that there was a stubby triangular blade projecting out between the two middle fingers of Bast's fist. The woman gave her another gentle smile and opened her fist. The punch-dagger vanished.

Gabby sat back. "Got it. Thank you. Although I hope you understand if I don't want you to have to follow through on that last part."

Bast let go with a louder, full-throated laugh. "Who would?" Their drinks arrived, and Gabby started to relax. This was weird, but she figured that she would go with the flow unless somebody asked her to do something truly criminal.

"So, how are we getting to our destination?"

"Minos knows how I like to travel. He's already set up our tickets. I'm guessing you're used to the no-frills type of transport."

"Oh, yeah. Hot-bunking and all that." She looked up at Bast. "I'm guessing this will be nicer?"

The silver-haired woman nodded. "You better believe it."

* * *

 _Plush_ was the only word that Gabby could use to describe it. The limousine to the spaceport, the shuttle up to their liner, and the trip to Sur'Kesh had all been plush. Bast had pretty much spoken only when spoken to for the most part, which had made the liner trip a little long for Gabby. The woman was perfectly polite and seemed glad to talk, but when anything strayed into either her background or Gabby's she shut the conversation down with finality.

The door to the shuttle slid open, and the moist atmosphere of Sur'Kesh rolled in. Gabby began to sit up, but Bast gave her a gentle push on the shoulder to indicate she should stay seated. "Hang on a bit. Let me check." That had been par for the course. Bast had always insisted on being first in and last out of any unfamiliar territory.

Gabby resisted the urge to roll her eyes as Bast stepped down out of the shuttle. Having somebody as her shadow during this whole trip seemed a bit much. This trip was supposed to be a big secret anyway, so why would anybody be following her or trying to kill her?

The woman in gray flicked her quick eyes over the surroundings, then nodded at Gabby. The engineer grabbed her bag and hauled herself out of the shuttle. The tarmac was littered with other shuttlecraft as well and among them teemed the short slender forms of salarians. The sun beat down on them, and that plus the humidity was already making Gabby sweat.

Gabby hiked her bag up on one shoulder. "Where to now?"

Bast consulted her omni-tool. She wasn't sweating, of course. "We're meeting them close by. There's an access tunnel that we can take."

Gabby walked at Bast's elbow as they moved to the edge of the landing zone. The access tunnel turned out to be more like a utility corridor, with pipes overhead and metal grating underneath. It was even hotter than the tarmac, and Gabby felt a few trickles of perspiration begin edging down under her collar.

A few salarians passed them in the tunnel, and then they went through a little 'dog-leg' section, As they rounded the corner out of that section, Gabby saw a brief glimpse of human forms further down the corridor. A glimpse was all she got, because Bast shoved her back against the wall, out of sight of the newcomers. The woman suddenly had a gun in her hand and cracked off two quick shots before joining Gabby against the wall.

Gabby was about to protest when she hear an answering gunshot and saw the bright spark of a ricochet near Bast's head. Suddenly the taller woman's insistence on safety didn't seem so ridiculous.

"Ten of 'em, got two," said Bast. Her eyes now looked set in stone. "Hang on, don't move." She did another two quick one-handed shots around the corner. It was answered with many more shots as she ducked back. "Seven left. They're moving in on us."

Gabby almost suggested retreat, then looked up. Hmmm...standard color-coding indicated that one pipe in particular might help. She dropped to her knees and crawled around Bast's legs.

"Gabby, stop!" said Bast, just as Gabby took a peek out in the corridor. Sure enough, there were seven humans dressed in plain worker's coveralls. They were moving carefully towards the two women, and Gabby saw three more of them stretched out and leaking red behind them. She glanced up...there it was. She ducked back just as another two shots rang out.

"No!" yelled one of their attackers. "No shooting that one!"

So it was kidnapping instead of murder. Still, not a good situation. Gabby pushed herself up along the wall and met Bast's furious gaze.

"You foolish-" began Bast, before Gabby interrupted her, talking very fast.

"Shoot the valve, ceiling above them. On the red-and-black striped pipe. Live steam line."

Bast blinked. "You're an evil woman." She grinned and showed all her teeth. "I like it." She made one more shot around the corner and there was a huge clang and hiss followed promptly by hoarse screaming.

"RUN!" yelled Gabby. "You don't want to be anywhere _near_ that!" And sure enough the already-hot corridor became stifling as thick fog began billowing around their corner. As they ran back the way they came, Gabby could still hear one man screaming. The scream died away to a gurgle.

"How far is that going to spread?" asked Bast, her voice calm and composed even though they were running flat out.

Gabby panted her response. "Automatic...detection of pressure drop...steam should shut...off soon." And sure enough, the fog didn't follow them. They stopped two hundred meters down the corridor and looked back.

"We should try to get to them," said Gabby. "The bodies, I mean. We can maybe figure out who did this." Whatever she was involved in, she knew that the more knowledge they had the better.

Bast shook her head. "Not my department. I'm to keep you safe, and that includes preventing you from running back into an active crime scene. Come on, I've got to get in touch with your pickup and set something else up."

* * *

Mackie strolled along the path in the nature preserve. It was nice, if you liked jungle. The broad green leaves around him dripped with condensation in the humid air. He caught brief flashes of birdlike animals flitting among the trees, and every so often larger forms moving through the underbrush. Supposedly they had actual large predators in the preserve. Of course, this was a salarian nature preserve and so the paths were perfectly protected. He occasionally saw one of the flitting animals try to cross the barrier between path and jungle, only to get repulsed by the brief flash of an automated mass effect field snapping into place.

Around the next bend in the path should be his quarry. And sure enough, there was a little alcove next to the path with a worn stone bench. On one side of the bench was a woman with short, mousy-brown hair and a look that screamed 'What Am I Doing Here?'. It was a look that Mackie could sympathize with. The other woman was taller and dressed in a very snazzy looking gray suit. The woman in the suit gave him a dead-eyed appraisal that Mackie had come to know all too well. That was a 'John' type of look. This person was one of _them_. He made sure to keep his hands in plain sight at all times as he addressed them.

"Hi! I'm Mackie. Do you mind if I sit? Been hiking through here a while."

"And how far have you been hiking?" asked the taller woman.

"A long ways. Since Earth, a little town called Barcelona."

The woman nodded. "I've heard of it."

Macke smiled. "Good to get that code word stuff out of the way." He turned to the mousy-haired woman. "Shall we go?" He offered his elbow.

"We are all going," said the taller woman, and stood up. "She is my Ward until she's on board your ship. And you better be the one we're waiting for. Otherwise you're in for a bad day."

Mackie just nodded. Oddly, he didn't feel scared. Hanging around John made threats of gruesome death and violence just another day on the job. He indicated the path back the way he'd come, and they set off without another word.

* * *

"This is a turian ship!" exclaimed Gabby.

"Yep," replied Mackie. "Our little home sweet home. Welcome onboard the _Helen of Troy_." He touched a control and the lower airlock door hissed open.

Bast gave Mackie a flinty glare. "You go first. I follow. Gabby, you stay here until I give the all clear, okay?"

Gabby nodded. She hoped that this was the last of the spy-running-around nonsense and that she could get to some actual engineering work soon. Mackie went down the ladder without further comment.

Bast looked up at Gabby. "If I say 'all clear' then you run like hell, got it?" she whispered. "If I say 'green light' then it's okay." She snaked her way down the ladder and out of sight. After a little bit, Gabby heard her call out "Green light, Gabby."

Gabby wondered what she really would have done if Bast had said 'all clear'. Running was always an option, but where to? She lowered her bag through the hatch, followed by herself.

The captain (or at least owner) of the boat was a tall man with dark eyes and hair to match. His demeanor reminded Gabby of Bast. He was shaking hands with Bast as Gabby reached the foot of the ladder.

"Thanks again," he said. "Sorry you had a bit of a time getting her here."

Bast shrugged. "It was a little easier than it would have been, thanks to some quick thinking by Gabby. I have to go report in. Mrs. Carmichael is going to have some digging to do to try to find out who our playmates were. Take good care of her, Mr. Hadlock."

"We will."

Bast turned to Gabby. "And you take care, Gabby. It was a pleasure having you as my Ward."

Gabby shook hands with her. "Thank you. No offense, but I hope you never have to do it again."

The silver-haired woman winked at her and climbed back up the ladder.

After getting her gear stowed - and she had a separate cabin! All to herself! - Gabby took a quick tour of the rest of the vessel and met the others. They made it as far as Engineering before it all came to a halt.

"Who the _hell_ configured this drive core?" demanded Gabby. She planted her fists on her hips and glared at 'Hadlock' and Mackie.

Mackie looked at Hadlock, who said nothing. He looked back at Gabby. "Umm, the guys who did the refit. It's been fine so far, Cammy hasn't reported any problems with it."

"Yes, because you've been cruising around sedately and never been putting any pressure on it."

"We did check it out." The young man looked almost hurt by Gabby's dismissal.

"And it would do fine for a few stress tests, but if you really thrashed it long-term it would've fallen apart on you. Thank goodness you never got into combat." She blew out a breath and looked around. "Right, I've gotta get started."

"Wait, we still have the rest of the ship to show you-" began Mackie.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm sure it's really nice. But I have a lotta work to do, and no you can't help. Now shoo, both of you."

Hadlock and Mackie looked at each other.

"Shoo!" repeated Gabby, flapping one hand at them as if scaring away birds. Both men obligingly left. Gabby took another tour around the drive core department, getting it set in her mind how she was going to proceed.

Finally she stopped and placed a hand on a support beam leading to the small pulsing light of the drive core. "Hello, Engine. I'm Gabby Daniels." She patted the beam fondly. "Don't you worry, baby. We'll get you feeling much better very soon."

* * *

"I see. Thank you, Bast. Please hold position until I get back to you." Mrs. Carmichael broke the connection and leaned back in her chair. Her office was tiny, tucked away like an afterthought in the bowels of the Hotel Metropol. She hated large offices. Mrs. Carmichael always felt like she was rattling around in them like a loose pea.

She rubbed her face tiredly. "Jackson, would you come in here a moment?" The office suddenly felt even tinier as Jackson squeezed his bulk in through the door.

"Ma'am?"

"Problem. Ms. Daniels made it to John's team safely, but they were set upon _en route_. Ten humans on Sur'Kesh, clearly lying in wait for them. It sounds like a kidnapping attempt."

The huge man nodded. "So somebody was tracking Bast and Ms. Daniels. They must have picked them up at the Continental on Benning."

"Why track Daniels, though? She's not a target of interest for anyone. Just another Alliance engineer who resigned. Whoever it was must know that she met with Hackett." She thought further. "Hackett is savvy enough to prevent anybody from listening in on their conversation, but somebody must have known about the meeting itself. Somebody is tracking everything that Hackett is doing."

"That's not surprising," said Jackson. "He's an important figure. They must have wanted to get ahold of Ms. Daniels and find out what the meeting was about."

She leaned forward. "I don't like that the ten were all humans. No other races. And they were trying to pass as workers on the salarian homeworld, which would have made them stand out. So whoever it is prefers using humans."

"Not only that," added Jackson. "But why ten of them? That's a lot of personnel for a simple kidnapping. That implies they knew about Bast's capabilities."

Mrs. Carmichael smiled. People usually tended to think of Jackson as simple muscle, which is why she liked having him around. He was a lot more observant than most gave him credit for. "Well," she said. "Using humans only, and knowing about Organization personnel. That narrows it down quite a bit."

"Cerberus," said Jackson with finality. "They're in open conflict with us, then?"

She nodded. "It seems my message wasn't received. I think I'm going to have to speak a little more loudly. Please have an account opened with Ms. Bast as the beneficiary. An open-ended account. I am going to have quite a bit for her to do."

* * *

Gabby walked into the rear cabin. It was bigger that hers, but also clean and spartan. It looked almost military in its formal neatness. Mr. Hadlock stared out the sloping rear window at the green-and-white expanse of Sur'Kesh below them.

"Reporting, sir," she said. "Drive core is now available to provide full military power. We're all set to leave."

The man didn't respond for a moment, then shook himself a little and turned away from the window. "Sorry," he said. "When...where I come from a view like that was only available to a few people. I'm still getting used to it." He opened his omni-tool. "All set, Cammy. Let's head out."

"Tell her to thrash it," said Gabby.

Hadlock gave her a look, then shrugged. "And really put the spurs to it," he said to the pilot.

There was a pause, then a surge of blue light from their engines. The planet began to recede with significant speed, and Gabby could hear a distant whoop of joy from the front of the ship.

Hadlock smiled. "It sounds like Cammy approves. Thanks for helping us out, Ms. Daniels."

"Of course, sir. It's my job."

He nodded. "As you may have guessed, this is not an Alliance operation. We're not big on formality here, so please call me John."

"Sure, John. And please call me Gabby. Can I ask, um..." she trailed off, not knowing where to begin.

"You want to know what this motley crew is up to, right?" said John with a smile. "It's simple. We're working for Hackett and tracking down a man with information that could cause very serious problems for humanity. Our best lead is in the Terminus systems, so we needed an engineer along in case of trouble. We asked Hackett, and he provided you."

"I see." Gabby wasn't sure she liked the notion of being 'provided', like she was some kind of commodity. "So what's the story with Bast? Or is that something I'm not supposed to know about? That whole deal was seriously weird."

John shrugged. "Bast and I belong to the same, ah, club. That club got involved in this whole effort, and that's pretty much it."

It sounded like there was a lot of story getting left out, but Gabby figured that was all she was getting for now. "Understood, John. May I leave? I need to get my things squared away."

"Of course. Thanks again, Gabby."

She made her way back to her cabin, only to have a clawed hand rest gently on her shoulder as she opened her door.

"Sister, you can sure as spirits cook," said the turian looming over her. Gabby had dealt with only one turian previously, a stuffy male named Viblius who had been on the _Perugia_ as part of a cultural exchange program. She had kept her distance from the armored alien, although Marcus had seemed to take a shine to him. There had even been an impromptu drinking contest between the two men at one point which had ended in a draw. A very aching and vomit-streaked draw.

Now she was face-to-mandible with a turian, and the ominous-looking red tribal markings on the turian's face was not making Gabby any less uneasy. "Um, thanks?" she replied, hating that there was a little squeak in her voice.

"You are very welcome. Seriously, it's a good thing for Nalack Kin that he's too far out of the way and that we're under a time constraint. Otherwise I'd head back to Earth just to throttle the squat little bareface myself. I wish I had caught it."

"It's not your fault. Like I told John, it was fine for normal use."

"So can I ask what you did?"

She seemed honestly interested, and so Gabby launched into an explanation of power couplings and propulsion system resonances. And she was surprised that the turian's eyes didn't glaze over like most people when she got too technical. Instead she asked a few more questions which Gabby answered, and within a few minutes they were chatting like old friends and she had completely forgotten her uneasiness.


	11. Affliction

John Wick liked to be in the cockpit during relay transfers. He still felt a pleasant little thrill each time they were suddenly 'thrown' somewhere else. This particular transfer had gone as smoothly as the others, and Camicia relaxed into her seat once they were through.

"Wecome to the Nimbus Cluster," she said. "A few more jumps and we'll be out of Council space altogether."

He grunted his appreciation and got up to leave. A chime from Camicia's console stopped him. "Problem?" he asked her.

"Not on our end," said Camicia. "That's a general distress call. We should check it, just in case we're in a position to give a hand." She leaned forward to call up the message.

John almost stopped her, then reconsidered. Yes, they had a mission to perform. But space was very big, and if the situation was reversed he'd want all the help he could get. The turian read the message and clicked her mandibles. He was getting better at reading turian expressions, and it looked like she was puzzled.

"The call originally went out on the asari networks only, which is odd. It got picked up and thrown out into the general network by some anonymous do-gooder." Camicia kept reading. "Most of the message is in asari. The alert originated from a planet called...Lesuss, if I'm reading this right. We should get Miss I'm-Not-A-Commando up here to translate."

Persephone promptly responded to Camicia's page, and then promptly went pale as she read through the message. "This is bad. This is very, very bad. We have to help with this."

John crossed his arms. "Help with what?" He didn't like the sound of this. Peresphone had been unflappable so far. Whatever this was had her scared right down to her bones.

"There's been an escape. From a monastery on Lesuss, they had someone escape."

Camicia shrugged. "So it's a crazy asari monk wandering around. What is she gonna do, preach some crazy new religion?"

Persephone's face set in determination. "No, she's going on the hunt. We need to gather everyone and come up with a plan." She gave John a beseeching look. "Please, this is important. We can help with this."

John raised one eyebrow, then shrugged. "All right. I'll call a general meeting in the mess, and then you can make your case."

* * *

John watched Nathan scroll through what looked like about one hundred pages of text in three minutes. "So this condition only affects asari who are themselves offspring of two asari," said the analyst. It wasn't really a question. His voice was dry and professorial, indicating he was 'in the zone', as Mackie liked to call it.

Persephone nodded. "Asari who have two asari parents are called purebloods. It's considered a severe insult, so _don't_ ever use that term in polite company. Officially, prejudice against purebloods exists because we 'enlightened asari' believe that our race is stronger if we incorporate the characteristics of other races into our own." She snorted. "But in truth, it's because every so often a pureblood turns out to be what's called an Ardat-Yakshi."

"It must be a very recessive gene," mused Nathan. He was still scrolling. "It appears that a pureblood must have at least one parent who is also a pureblood in order to have any chance of having the condition appear."

Mackie was sitting next to Nathan. He was clearly trying to keep up with the analyst's reading speed and clearly failing. He looked over at Persephone. "So what is the condition? Is it contagious?"

"No. And it doesn't really affect the Ardat-Yakshi herself. That's what makes it so insidious. It only comes into play later in life, when they try to perform a Joining."

John had done more reading on the asari since he'd met Persephone in Prague. The asari act of sex also included a merging of minds with the partner, and this 'Joining' was one of the triggers required for an asari to begin her pregnancy. He wasn't sure he liked the idea of someone rummaging around in his head. Not because he had any real secrets to hide, but because it would be a horrific experience for any unlucky soul who tried it. He had done a lot of truly nasty shit in his past.

Gabby hugged herself. It looked like she was growing her hair out; it was actually touching her ears. "So they can't do a Joining properly?"

"Yes and no. You see, 'Ardat-Yakshi' means 'Demon of The Night Winds' in an old asari dialect. That's because they Join all too well. They interface and dominate their partner's nervous system to such a degree that they cause irreparable damage to the other person. That damage usually manifests as a massive cerebral hemorrhage. And usually that's the first time someone realizes they have the condition. They try to do their first Joining and then come to and find their would-be lover on the floor with blood coming out of their eyes."

There was a silence in the mess. Camicia clicked her mandibles nervously.

Persephone continued. "They gain knowledge and experience from those that they kill. It's like an addiction. The more they feed, the more they want, and the more they hunt. There are only two ways to deal with them. Kill them or isolate them."

Camicia looked up. "That isn't really a monastery, is it? It's more like a prison."

The asari nodded glumly. "A very nice prison but yes, you're right. The monastery's inhabitants are those with either active Ardat-Yakshi traits or those with strong but latent Ardat-Yakshi genes. We asari don't really like to think about them, which is why we stuck the monastery in an out-of-the-way place like the Masana system." She took a deep breath. "And it gets worse."

"Worse?" squeaked Gabby. "A psychic vampire that kills via mind rape isn't bad enough?"

"They don't always kill," replied Persephone. "An Ardat-Yakshi can also dominate the minds of others and put them in thrall to her. They will do anything she asks them to. And yes, I mean _anything_. Depending on how long she's been on the run, this fugitive may already have several thralls to aid her. The longer she's loose, the more help she will get."

John wasn't sure he liked the idea of getting involved in a monster hunt like this. "I'd like to help, but we do have a mission to perform. This sounds like more of a police or military matter."

"No! We..." The asari folded her hands on the table and controlled herself. "We need to do something. Prior to this escape, there was one other known Ardat-Yakshi at large. Her name is Morinth. She decided to go on the run rather than go into seclusion, and she's still at large. It's believed that she's killed at least eight hundred people during the last four centuries." Persephone raised her head and met John's eyes. "And that's what happens when an Ardat-Yakshi decides to be _subtle_. If this new escapee decides to go big, she could be even worse. There have been incidents in our past where Ardat-Yakshi have set themselves up as godlike figureheads for fanatical death cults. Thousands could die."

John nodded. "I understand. All the more reason to get the asari government involved."

She shook her head. "Thessia? They'll debate the whys and hows until it's far too late. The fastest response we can hope for is for Councilor Tevos to send a Spectre or two out here ASAP. But either way will take time. We're here _now a_ nd we have some unique skills that we can bring to bear."

He tapped a finger on the table in thought, then turned to Nathan. "What information is there in the original distress call?"

Nathan closed his genetic research and then called up the text of the distress call. John noted that he seemed able to read the asari script just fine. "The message is vague on exactly when the escape happened. It's also light on other details. We have a name, Batara V'Lali, and a photo. Neither really help us. Clearly she's going to change her name and her appearance."

"What do you need?" asked John. Persephone gave him a grateful look. He shrugged to let her know _It's no big deal_.

Nathan tapped a finger on his chin. "Access to the monastery's information network. We need to figure out how Ms. V'Lali achieved her escape. And I need more about her background. If I can build a sufficiently accurate mental model of her, then I can predict her actions."

Mackie leaned back. "Okay. Do we ask nicely, or do we do this sneakily?"

"Sneaky," said John. "We're trying to keep a low profile."

The young fixer grinned without humor. "Of course. We gotta hunt down a alien-psycho-killer-vampire-babe, so why not make it a real challenge?"

"We don't have time to set up some sort of heist," said Persephone. "I'll just go make the request. They'll only see me, and I can keep us anonymous. Trust me, they'll be desperate for help."

* * *

The warden...sorry, the abbot...of the Lesuss monastery rubbed her crest and stared at Persephone. "You know I looked up your name. Your real name, not what you're calling yourself now." There was a very nice-looking fountain nearby that gave out a gentle and silvery splashing noise which echoed through the courtyard.

"I would be shocked if you hadn't," replied Persephone. She clasped her hands behind her back and stood at parade rest, almost as if she was a soldier being inspected by a superior officer. The sun shone down gently, and a warm breeze rustled their clothing. It was altogether far too nice of a place to house something so horrific.

The abbot crossed her arms. "Why did you come back to asari space? Did the humans kick you out as well?"

Persephone did not allow a single hint of anger to show in her face. "I was just passing through. My group received the distress call and I knew the importance of it."

"Your group?" the abbot raised one eyebrow.

"That's all you will know. I have access to several people who have skills that can help. One of them in particular is unparalleled at hunting others. If you wish our help it is yours, provided you can give us the information we need. Otherwise we will be on our way. And you can sit here and wait for Thessia to pull their collective crest out of their nethers and send you help."

There was a long pause, broken only by silvery splashing.

Finally the abbot nodded. "I am desperate, so I'll take any assistance I can get. Even if it is anonymous. But I will only give you information regarding Batara's background as well as how we think she got out." She blew out a breath and turned away. "We have...we _had_ only three occupants here with fully active Ardat-Yakshi genes. Two sisters, Falere and Rila, and also Batara. Fortunately, the sisters' condition was caught early. They chose seclusion before they hurt anyone. Batara's condition was not caught in time. She killed her first partner. Without meaning to, of course. But now I wonder...anyway, I will give you her complete file."

"And how did she escape?" asked Persephone.

The abbot didn't meet her eyes. "She had outside help."

"Oh, Goddess."

* * *

Nathan leaned against a tree and enjoyed the feel of real sun on his face. Much of Lesuss was uninhabited, and so they'd landed the _Helen of Troy_ in an inconspicuous clearing while Persephone went off to offer their services. He had just finished reading the files on Batara that they had been given. It was not a pleasant thing to 'build' a murderer in one's mind. Having the sun on his skin helped to keep him calm.

"So she had a thrall on the outside?" asked Mackie.

Persphone nodded. "It seems so. Officially, the only time that Batara killed anyone was during her first Joining...according to her. But I think that was the only one that we know about. She probably killed a few times before that and only got caught with the one she 'claimed' was her first."

Mackie looked down and continued his reading. "And she probably gave them a sob story about 'Oh, woe is me, I didn't know!', eh?"

"Yep. And then she enthralled someone right before she went in."

He looked up at her, his face puzzled. "That was twenty years ago. Would a thrall still be under her spell that many years later?"

"Do you remember your first real crush on someone?" asked Persephone. Mackie nodded sheepishly, and she continued. "Imagine that multiplied by a thousand. Imagine there's someone who you can't stop thinking about, someone who you are convinced is the only one for you. Someone you will do anything for."

Mackie shrugged. "Okay, I guess I see it. But why wait twenty years?"

"Indeed," said Nathan. The other two started with surprise; they clearly had forgotten he was there. "That is the question of the hour, Mackie. At first I thought that the delay was to give the thrall time to set up a new and airtight identity for Batara. But that would only require two years at most. No, I believe Batara's timing is significant. If we can figure out why she escaped _now_ then we have a chance at finding her." He looked over at them. "And it is our only chance. As I said, the thrall has had plenty of time to set up an iron-clad identity for Batara's escape."

While he was speaking, John descended the ladder from the _Helen_. "It could be that Batara's new identity is the reason for the timing of her escape."

Nathan cocked his head. "How so?" His eyes unfocused as he thought. "Ah, yes. Rather than create a whole new identity, maybe she's going to kill someone in particular and take their place. That would be even harder to discover."

"It's what I would do in her shoes," replied John.

"You just may have a future as an analyst, Mr. Wick. Mackie!"

The young man flinched again. "Er, yes?"

"Be a dear and see if you can find anything newsworthy regarding visitors to the Nimbus Cluster."

Mackie gave him a sideways look but went ahead and started scanning through news sites. "You could probably do this better."

"I'm busy getting Batara set up in my head. I have faith in you."

"Thanks, I think. Lessee...we've got the asari dreadnought _Janassa_ and her support craft patrolling through the cluster. There's a team of archaeologists who are setting up a dig site on Carcosa in the Agaiou system. The T'Nevia opera company is performing Wagner's 'Ring' cycle. It's the very first time any asari have performed a human opera, and they have a tour stop in Trategos. There's also a..."

"Stop." Nathan tapped his fingers on his thigh, almost as if he was listening to invisible music. "The Carcosa expedition. Tell me more."

Mackie scrolled further down. "There's some very ancient ruins there that predate the Protheans. They're about 2.7 million years old. At least, that's the best guess. There was some controversy about the dating for a while. It wasn't until recently that they finally got the true age of the ruins all sorted out and put the expedition together. They're going to be there for about two months."

"That's it," said Nathan with finality. "She's planning to kill someone on that expedition and take their place . It's a remote location, with people who are known but who aren't too much in the public eye. It's ideal for her purposes."

John nodded. "I guess Mr. Hadlock is going to get a hankering to visit the oldest known ruins in the galaxy. We just have to figure out some way to encourage them to let us land and take a peek around."

Nathan leaned his head back against the tree and tried to soak in the feeling of sun on his face. He had only read a little bit on Carcosa a long time ago, although he could remember it perfectly. It had sounded like an absolute armpit of a planet. It would be quite a while before he felt the sun on his face again.

* * *

Carcosa was indeed a hot-house world. It was nowhere near as bad as Venus, but it would still require full environmental suits to move around on the surface. Fortunately John had splurged on quality when buying their pressure suits, and Camicia assured him they would hold up just fine in the harsh environment.

Once in orbit they performed a full scan of Carcosa's surface. They found the ruins of interest, located beside a huge dry lakebed. A small cluster of temporary domes were nearby along with the expedition's ship. Twenty kilometers away from the camp they picked up another signal that indicated a small metallic lump of some sort. They brought the _Helen_ down near the latter, and Persephone and Mackie volunteered to go take a look.

* * *

Mackie's breath sounded loud in his helmet as he approached the long-range shuttlecraft. The sky overhead was a mottled sour yellow color and the rocks underfoot looked almost polished from their weathering in Carcosa's hot and corrosive atmosphere. The shuttle's sliding door was open, but there was no external damage that he could see. "The ship looks intact from the outside," he said into the comm. "It was definitely landed here."

Persephone came up next to him and touched his shoulder. "Hang back a bit." She opened her omni-tool and waved it towards the nearby shuttle. "I'm not picking up any life signs inside. It looks like it was abandoned."

The two looked at each other. Mackie could see that Persephone really didn't want to go in there either. He ordinarily would have made some crack about 'age before beauty'. But his sense of humor seemed to have fled into the murky twilight of Carcosa. "Shall we?" he finally asked.

She shrugged. "We've got to make sure."

"Both of you be careful," said John over the comm. He was behind them and peering at the shuttle out of the _Helen's_ cockpit windows.

"Don't need to tell us twice, boss," muttered Mackie.

"I'll take point," said Persephone with finality. "You just watch my butt."

Mackie nodded. She squared her shoulders and drew a pistol, then flitted silently up to the edge of the door. Mackie was close on her heels and also armed. What he could see of the interior of the shuttle was dark and still. All that was visible was a couple of benches; the cockpit was around the edge of the door and still out of sight. Persephone's pistol had a built-in flashlight, and she turned it on without shining it into the shuttle.

She looked up at Mackie. "I'm going to check out the cockpit area. In three...two...one." Persephone pointed her gun fluidly around the edge of the door frame and recoiled. Her scream sounded deafening in Mackie's ears.

"Report!" snapped John. "What is it?"

Persephone only screamed once, and then got her breath under control. "Sorry. I'm okay, I just had a bit of a scare. It's..."

Before she could finish Mackie pointed his own gun around the edge and nearly had a heart attack himself. Framed in the beam of his flashlight was a blue asari face staring right back at him. Her eyes were unnaturally wide open. Purple streaks ran like bloody tears down the sides of her cheeks, and her teeth were bared in a wide rictus grin that could be due to complete bliss or utter pain. The face didn't move or react to his light.

"Jesus!" he barked and drew back. "Sorry, John. It looks like we found Batara's thrall."

They both carefully stepped up into the shuttle. The dead asari was wearing the black catsuit of an asari commando. She was strapped into the copilot's seat, which was swiveled back to face the door. Persephone checked her vitals as a formality, but it was clear she was dead.

"This is indeed Janraus D'ronenus. The one who helped her escape." Persephone sighed. "It looks like we made the right call. This is definitely an Ardat-Yakshi kill. It looks like Batara is already here. The body isn't too decomposed even in this atmosphere, so it can't have been here more than a few days."

Nathan's voice now came over the comm. "That's still enough time. By now she's certainly killed and replaced the person she planned to impersonate."

"Do we have any information on the expedition members?" asked John.

"Some," replied Mackie. He regarded the dead asari and shuddered. "The head is a gal named Valissa Shay'ma. There are five expedition members including her, and they're all asari." He looked around the interior of the shuttle. "It looks like Batara stripped the inside of the ship pretty thoroughly. I don't think we'll find anything else here."

Mackie heard John humming a little as the assassin thought. "Who can we call about this? We've managed to track down which planet she's on. That's got to be a big help for the authorities."

Persephone thought a bit. "The abbot back on Lasuss is not an option. She'll just issue a general alert. Batara will see that alert and escape...and probably kill or enthrall everyone else on the expedition while doing so. I can send a private message to both the Council and to Thessia. At least they'll know to keep it quiet. I just hope that somebody takes it seriously."

Mackie turned away from the grinning corpse and towards the door. "Hey, can we come back in? This place is really giving me the creeps."

* * *

In his past, John had sometimes been required to take on other personas. He was now wishing they'd come up with something other than 'Mr. Hadlock'. There were times when it was a real pain to pretend to be a rich doofus. He put on a vacuous smile for the asari that peered out of the _Helen's_ terminal screen. This was Nisell T'Zeran, the second-in-command for the expedition.

"Mr. Hadlock, you understand that this is not a developed world. There are no inns or tours here. We're a working expedition, and we don't have the space for-"

"Hey, space is not a problem, Miz T'Zeran," interrupted John. He waved an arm vaguely. "I got my own ship, ya know. And I know you guys are busy, I just wanted to see the ruins. Pretty exciting, isn't it? Oldest known evidence of sentient life and all that."

Nisell rubbed her forehead. "I understand, but this is a working scientific expedition. We're not just taking pictures. We can't have you wandering around."

"I know, I hear ya. We'll only go where you tell us to go. Besides," he gave her a wink. "You've been here a few weeks already. I figured you could use some fresh fruit."

Nisell had been reaching for the comm switch to cut the connection, but that gave her pause. "Fresh?"

"Yeah, gotta whole assortment, including an entire crate of delrach fruit. Even managed to score some Earth papaya." He gave her a friendly grin. "My favorite. I think you'll like it too."

"I..." Nisell was clearly balancing her desire to eat something that was _not_ out of a pouch with her desire to not have to deal any more with 'Mr. Hadlock'. The former won out. "Okay, I'll give you the coordinates where it'll be safe to set your ship down. I'll talk with Doctor Shay'ma. She should be okay with it."

* * *

The opaque bubble-domes of the Carcosa expedition looked far too fragile to John's eyes, although he was assured that their material would withstand small-arms fire if necessary. He really, really hoped he wouldn't be testing that first-hand; he'd rather not try breathing the acidic soup that passed for an atmosphere on this planet.

Nisell met John, Mackie, and Nathan at the inner airlock door. Mackie and Nathan each had a sealed and airtight crate in their arms. John gestured grandly to them. "As promised, madam. Hopefully this small token of appreciation is worth having to put up with unexpected visitors."

"Thanks, Mr. Hadlock," replied Nisell as she gave them a little smile. "I'm sure it will be." She was shorter than John, with pale blue eyes and a light dusting of purple freckles on her face. "You can put your suits in those lockers there. I'll let the others know you've arrived."

John looked over at Nathan after they'd de-suited. The analyst had a pair of spectacles on his face that gave him an owl-like appearance. Nathan looked back and gave a slight nod. The glasses were capturing faces properly and feeding the data right into Nathan's graybox.

"Who are you?" snapped an imperious voice. This asari was slightly taller than Nisell, and had icy eyes that matched her tone. Her chin was lifted slightly as if regarding lesser beings. Nisell was close behind her.

"Mr. Hadlock, this is Doctor Valissa Shayma," said Nisell. "Leader of the Carcosa expedition of CE 2185."

"A pleasure, Miz...sorry, Doctor Shayma," said John as he extended his hand. Valissa looked at the proffered hand as if he'd offered her a dead and rotting fish.

She nodded curtly in lieu of a handshake. "I assume we will not have too much trouble from you, _Mister_ Hadlock. As I'm sure Nisell told you, this is not a place for amateurs. This planet is extremely hostile, and these ruins are very delicate."

John held up his hands in mock surrender. "We're just here to see what you'll let us see. It's really more for bragging rights, if I'm honest."

Valissa gave a little snort. "Fine. Your...donation is greatly appreciated. Please follow me." She turned on her heel and nearly ran over Nisell as she left the room. Nisell gave them an apologetic little shrug and followed her boss.

The mess room of the expedition looked to be the largest room in the small complex. Three other asari were already there as their little train came in. Mackie and Nathan set their crates on the long center table, and the younger man immediately began chatting up the other expedition members before getting silenced by a frosty word from Valissa.

"Formal introductions first, I think," said the expedition head. "Myself and Nisell you know. This is Dr. Emryes Saeri, our planetologist, Dr. Sheia Janis is our dating and weathering expert, and Dr. Anedra Janis is our cultural and linguistics person."

"And before you ask, yeah we're related," said Sheia with a cheeky grin. She and Anedra were clearly sisters. They both had the same pale violet eyes, similar noses, and the same full lips.

John gave them all a little bow. "Thanks for your hospitality for some annoying intruders. I'm Edward Hadlock, and this is Nathan Prasad and Mackenzie Smith."

"Call me Mackie," said the fixer with a equally cheeky grin. He turned to the third asari seated at the table. "So you're an expert on planets? Have you figured out why this one is such a nasty place?"

Emreys smiled a little bashfully. "Not yet, Mr. Smith, but I'm working on it." She looked like a shy schoolgirl suddenly called on by the teacher. Her features were finer than the Janis sisters, and her eyes were a much warmer blue than the expedition leader.

Mackie sat across from her. "Call me Mackie, please. The only time I hear Mr. Smith is when I'm in trouble with that guy." He pointed his thumb over at John.

Emreys laughed. "Sure, Mackie, and you can call me Emry. To answer your question, it certainly is the case that Carcosa's previous inhabitants inadvertently created this hostile environment. We're just not sure exactly how it happened. The limestone cycle that sequesters carbon over geologic time periods somehow got interrupted..." Her face got more animated the more she went on, and to his credit Mackie's eyes didn't glaze over.

Sheia turned to John. "So what did you bring us?" She eyed the crates almost lustfully.

"Some fresh fruit I happened to pick up. One of the advantages of being comfortably well off is that I don't have to worry about tedious things. Things like if something is in season or how far they have to ship it."

The asari's eyes lit up and she made to open the crate, but Nisell placed a gentle hand on the lid.

"Do you mind if we scan these first, Mr. Hadlock?" she asked John.

John blinked a little in mock surprise. "Oh. Oh! I see. Yes, of course. Please satisfy yourself."

Nisell shrugged. "It's just that we are isolated out here and we do need to take precautions. You seem friendly, but these could be laced with all sorts of nastiness."

He smiled and mirrored her shrug. "Honestly, it didn't occur to me. By all means, go ahead and look."

Valissa gave a little _harumph_. "You really should be more careful, Mr. Hadlock. Somebody's going to take advantage of you someday."

* * *

The three of them were back in the _Helen's_ mess along with the rest of John's crew. Five asari heads floated above the center table. These were reconstructions of the expedition members and had been created from the data captured by Nathan's glasses. Next to the grouping of five was another hologram of what John would call an average-looking asari. She had light blue eyes and a bit of a pout to her lips, along with a light dusting of violet freckles on her face that was similar to Nisell's. That was all, really. There was nothing to indicate the deadliness that lay behind those average eyes. This was the last known picture of Batara from the monastery.

"So it's a game of 'who's the psychopath'" said Camicia. "I take it bone structure analysis isn't helping?"

"It helps some," said Nathan. "But not a lot. Batara has been on the run for at least a month. That is plenty of time to get plastic surgery and heal up from it."

"Wouldn't she need to find a surgeon for that?" asked John. It might be a stupid question, but it needed to be asked.

"Not necessarily," said Persephone. "She's been setting this up for a long time. Her thrall could have procured a robotic surgery suite for her."

"Crap. Can we rule the sisters out at least?"

Nathan reluctantly nodded. "My research into them indicates that they have been close since childhood. It would be much harder for Batara to pose as one of them without the other noticing."

"I hate to play the jerk," said Camicia. "But is it possible she killed one sister and enthralled the other?"

Persephone shook her head. "Enthralling someone isn't a magic spell. If someone has a strong enough reason, or just a strong enough will, they can resist it. And if someone kills your beloved sister you're gonna resist them with everything you've got."

The turian leaned back in relief. "Good to hear there's some limits to this damned monster."

"There, you see Cammy?" said Mackie cheerfully. "We've already got it narrowed down to three. The she-bitch leader, her long-suffering number two, or the shy nerdy one. I hope it's not her, she seems nice."

"It's unlikely that Batara chose Emreys," said Nathan. "And not because of temperament. Her facial structure is the farthest from Batara's own, and would require more extensive surgery. Plus she is in a very junior role in this expedition, and my model of Batara indicates that she has an innate desire to dominate others."

John crossed his arms and looked at the holograms. "Being the bitchy leader is a little too obvious, I think. The helpful and somewhat invisible number two...that's where I'd put my money."

Nathan shrugged. "Or she knows we'd think that, and is hiding in plain sight as the obvious bitchy leader. We'll have to keep observing. Something will tell us." He frowned a bit. "We're missing something, though."

Mackie raised an eyebrow. "Such as?"

The analyst spread his hands. "This was a very thorough escape attempt. It shows drive and determination, but it also shows that she is meticulous in her planning. It shows Batara is careful. So why did she get caught in the first place?"

John looked at Nathan. "Do you think there's some larger play here? What does she gain by getting stuck away in a convent for twenty years?"

"I don't know," replied Nathan. "Not yet. But we should be alert. I don't think her motives are just to simply escape and vanish. Something more is going on here."


	12. Translation

Along the shore the cloud waves break,  
The twin suns sink behind the lake,  
The shadows lengthen  
In Carcosa.

Strange is the night where black stars rise,  
And strange moons circle through the skies,  
But stranger still is  
Lost Carcosa.

Songs that the Hyades shall sing,  
Where flap the tatters of the King,  
Must die unheard in  
Dim Carcosa.

Song of my soul, my voice is dead,  
Die thou, unsung, as tears unshed  
Shall dry and die in  
Lost Carcosa.

—"Cassilda's Song" in 'The King in Yellow' Act 1, Scene 2

 _Robert W. Chambers, The King in Yellow and Other Horror Stories_

* * *

Gabby looked at John in disbelief. "You want me to do _what_?"

He didn't turn around, and kept looking out the cockpit windows. "Disable the asari ship. Can we do something that will prevent it from taking off, something that they won't easily detect?"

"You don't ask for much, do you?"

"Just say yes or no."

She pondered for a bit. "There's a few tricks we can play with the software. It'll make the drive core appear unstable, and the safety interlocks will kick in and prevent the engines from firing up."

Now he turned around. His eyes were very black when set against Carcosa's yellow gloom outside. "Will you have to gain access to the ship's interior to do that?"

"No, there should be data ports on the outside. They use them to run engine diagnostics during service in drydock."

John nodded. "Good. Let Persephone know what to do, and she'll get on it."

Gabby shook her head. "It'll be too complex. This isn't going to be a simple program upload. Especially since it's an asari ship, I'll have to go a little more carefully."

"I don't like that. You don't have any experience doing something like this."

"With respect, sir, I don't like this whole idea. If something happens...hell, I'll just say it. If our ship isn't here, then whoever's left will be stranded on a dead planet. And it might not be just Batara left stranded. It seems cruel."

"Cruel?" Those black eyes bored into her. "Gabby...if I was the man I was back when I made my name, then right now there would be five dead asari in that camp."

Gabby looked away. "Point taken. Let me think about it, see what I can come up with to streamline the process."

"Do so. And we don't have much time." He gave a half smile. "So, you know, no pressure."

* * *

"And this is the throne room," said Emreys. "At least, that's what we're calling it."

"I can see why," replied John. What lay before them was indeed impressive, a huge square room made of what looked like gray stone. The floor was polished black and utterly seamless. It led up to a gray dais at the far end, upon which was a large black throne that appeared to be made of the same material as the floor. The far wall of the room had once held a huge picture window overlooking the vast dead lake outside. The wall must have been broken by some calamity in the past, and half of it was missing. John realized something odd about the throne.

"The throne's facing the wrong way," he said.

"Yep, it overlooks the lake, not the room." said Anedra. "In spite of our name for it, we're pretty sure this wasn't a seat of royalty. It was probably more of an observation chamber."

Emreys shook her head. "But in that case, why have such a large amount of space on the back side of the throne? I think this was more of a ceremonial room."

Anedra patted the shoulder of Emreys' suit. "Now, now. You're supposed to be figuring out the planet, not the ruins." Her eyes were amused behind her suit's visor. Emreys gave her a playful punch in the shoulder. This was clearly an old and teasing rivalry between them.

Nathan had also accompanied the group, and now he stooped to examine the floor. "This can't be stone," he said. "It's not weathered at all. And it's been sitting here for almost 3 million years. Especially in this atmosphere, this whole place should have been worn down into nothing long ago."

Emreys' eyes sparkled. "I know, right? It's amazing. We've tried to get microsamples of the floor and walls but with no luck. It looks like stone, but clearly it's not. Whatever it's made of is incredibly tough. We suspect it's something similar to Silaris heavy ship armor, but it's way too light to be that. We don't want to use any excessively damaging techniques to try to take samples, so we're resorting to passive scans for now."

"And you've found nothing else?" asked John.

"Not much else," replied Anedra. "There's a few antechambers off of this one. There's also some fragments that might be old furniture. We've also found quite a few scraps of their language. It was written on something that feels like parchment but is much tougher. They're kind of like the stone in this place, it's way too tough to get any physical samples off of them."

Nathan perked up at the mention of language. "How far along are you in deciphering their language?"

The linguist gave a one-shoulder shrug. "It's going slower than I'd prefer. Like I said, we have mostly bits of various things. It would be better if we had some longer texts."

"I have done some language analysis in the past," said Nathan. "If you don't mind having an amateur fumbling around, I'd be delighted to have a look and assist if possible."

Anedra waved a hand. "Sure, go ahead."

There was the sound of someone clearing their throat over the comm. Valissa's frigid voice sounded in their ears. "Anedra, much as I appreciate your willingness to work with others we should be careful. The expedition's intent is to give the first detailed description of these ruins, not give away our findings to strangers."

Anedra rolled her eyes, but kept her voice steady. "Of course, Valissa."

"Mr. Hadlock," continued Valissa. "Can I see you in my office?"

* * *

John wasn't sure if 'office' was the right word for this space. It was more like 'broom closet'. There wasn't any space for chairs, so he stood. Valissa was seated at a tall stool by the far wall and typing into a terminal. She turned as John entered.

"Mr. Hadlock, why are you really here?"

"Like I said, I wanted to see the ruins."

"Yes, and now you've seen them. Are you planning to leave?" Before he could reply, she continued. "Because if you aren't out of here in one hour, then I'll be convinced you're after something else. I will treat you and your group as a hostile force, with all that that implies."

He sighed. "Well, then I guess I should confess."

"So you do have a nefarious motive?"

"No, an ulterior one."

Valissa crossed her arms. "I'm waiting, Mr. Hadlock."

"Reapers," replied John.

She snorted. "I guess I shouldn't be surprised. You seem like the type that would fall for a ghost story."

"But what if it isn't?" He tilted his head. "These ruins are older than the Protheans."

She stared levelly at him. "And you were hoping to find evidence here for these...Reapers?"

"I thought there would be a good chance."

Valissa massaged one of her temples. "Amateurs. Goddess-be-damned amateurs. No, Mr. Hadlock, we have not found any evidence for Reapers or dragons or any other mystical nonsense."

"You haven't found any _yet_. The language is still undeciphered."

Her jaw clenched. "Anedra and her damn big mouth...It really is no concern of yours. If we find anything, rest assured it will be published in due course."

"And when would that be?"

"Mr. Hadlock, the ruins have been here for longer than your entire species has been in existence. They can wait a little while longer. I'm sure these, heh, 'Reapers' are not going to come cruising up in the next few months."

"Maybe. In either case, we can help get you faster results."

She leaned back. "Let me guess. You are offering up Mr. Prasad's services."

"In spite of what he said, he's not an amateur. You should try him out."

Valissa said nothing and looked away. John knew this was the critical point. If this really was Batara, then she'd tell them to get lost no matter what. Valissa, on the other hand, might be tempted. Unless Batara was a really good actress...no, she couldn't afford to have strangers sticking around.

He decided to push on it. "We're not looking for credit on any publications."

She gave him a sardonic look. "You just want to help, eh? Out of the goodness of your heart."

"Not exactly. Let's say that, if we do find no evidence for Reapers, then it would help me sleep better at night."

Valissa pursed her lips as she thought.

* * *

Persephone, John, and Nathan were gathered again in the _Helen's_ mess to go over it all.

"She's going for it," said John. "Nathan, you get to work with Anedra. Mackie is also with you."

"Are you sure?" asked Nathan. "Mackie is clever, but this is outside his expertise."

"Nobody gets left alone with any of them." John's voice was flat and final.

Persephone frowned. "I thought we had eliminated the sisters as possible suspects."

"Maybe. I don't trust any of them, really."

Nathan shrugged. "As you wish. I am looking forward to starting. It will be a formidable challenge. And I do believe we have also eliminated Valissa as a suspect."

"She could be playing along," said Persephone.

"Unlikely," replied Nathan. "Batara is careful, above all else. Having more people around is inherently messy. The situation becomes much harder to control. If Valissa was actually our Ardat-Yakshi, then she had a golden opportunity to legitimately tell us to get lost. She didn't take it."

"So that makes the number two the most likely," said John.

Persephone tapped her finger on the table in thought. "You know, I really don't like Nisell for it either," she said. "She's the one who gave us permission to land. If she's really Batara, then why even allow it in the first place?

"She didn't know who we really were," replied Nathan. "For all she knew, there was a Spectre just off camera getting ready to sound the alarm. So she decided to play along."

John sighed. He regarded the hologram in the middle of the mess table. It showed the current known locations of both the _Helen's_ crew and the asari expedition members. He had to make sure that nobody on his team was left alone with any of the asari. "Where is Gabby with her engine hacking?" he asked.

"She's almost done," said Persephone. "We've talked about how to do it, when the time comes. I'll have her back, don't worry."

John nodded. "Don't wait for me. As soon as Gabby feels that's she's ready, you need to go for it."

* * *

Gabby's feet crunched into the dry and weathered soil of Carcosa. She knew that Persephone was watching from somewhere, but she couldn't see her. Right now Gabby was crouched behind a large shipping container, about fifteen meters from the asari's ship. The sleek delta-winged shape was much more streamlined than the _Helen_ , but of similar size. Gabby took a peek around the corner of the container and was gratified that she could make out the access ports where she expected them to be. Over the last two days she'd given herself a crash course in asari ship layout and engine protocols.

"Stand by," said Persephone's voice in her ear. Gabby's breath reverberated in her helmet as she told herself to relax. This was going to be easy.

"You're clear to go," said Persephone. As the 'go' reached her ears, Gabby was already in motion and sprinting for the ship. The notebook-sized module that she'd put together for this attempt banged on her hip as she ran. It couldn't have been more than seven seconds to reach the ship, but it seemed to take forever to her.

"Still clear," said Persephone as Gabby reached her target. She pressed a control on the surface of the ship and the corresponding access port hatch swung open. Gabby pulled the module off of her hip and unreeled its cable, then inserted the cable end into the now-revealed plug. She touched a few controls on one side of the module and was grateful to see the screen on its front light up.

"Starting," she gasped, both from the run and the adrenaline. Asari script flowed up one side of the screen with the human translation on the other side. Gabby scrolled through the menu options, but then suddenly a large window overlaid the whole thing with a separate line of text in asari. "Shit."

"Problem?"

"Extra security password. Hang on." Gabby thought furiously. This didn't look like something put on after the fact, which meant it was a factory-installed security measure. "And nobody ever changes the damn factory defaults," she muttered. At least, she hoped that was the case here.

She carefully typed 'password' into the module, and it obligingly put the corresponding asari text into the new text window. It blanked out. Gabby waited what seemed like five hundred years before a new menu popped up. She breathed out in relief.

"Gabby, dammit, talk to me."

"It's fine, proceeding as planned," she snapped. The submenu she was looking for should be...ah, there it was. Gabby touched the go-button on her module and watched it begin to modify the subroutines she'd selected earlier. "Thirty seconds and I should be finished."

She'd only had time to take a couple of deep breaths before Persephone called again. "I see somebody," the asari said. "They've left the main dome. Heading for...yes, they're heading for your position. They'll be there in a minute or less."

"Shit. Twenty seconds left." The script on her module's screen flashed past as the little 'percent task complete' bar at the top slowly and agonizingly counted up. Sixty percent, seventy percent...

"They're still coming," said Persephone. "When you run, head for the other side of the container than before. That should keep you out of their line of sight."

Gabby didn't reply. The module finished and she gave a huge yank to get the cable out of its socket, then swung the access panel closed. "Done!" She just about sprinted off, but then realized that a fine layer of ochre dust had settled all over the asari ship during its time here. Her touching of the ship's exterior had disturbed the dust right around the access port, making it clear as day that somebody had been fooling around. "Shit!"

"Gabby! Move your ass!"

She reached down and grabbed a handful of soil in one glove, then reached up and smeared it all over the access port. It didn't look perfect, but at least it wasn't as glaringly obvious. Then she turned and ran like hell for the concealment of the container. She did remember to run for the other side than where she'd hidden before. It was like a nightmare, everything seemed to take far too long. But finally, after an eternity of running, she'd made it. Gabby pressed herself back against the composite wall of the container as she panted.

"Hold position," said Persephone. "They're doing a walk-around of the ship. It looks like a routine check for any damage."

Gabby panting slowed. "Can...you tell who it is?"

"It's Nisell, or at least somebody wearing her suit. Stand by, they just stopped."

"Is it by the rear? By that access port?"

"Maybe. I don't have a good angle on it. Just sit tight."

Gabby clutched the module almost like a security blanket. She was regretting not taking up Persephone's offer of a firearm. The engineer had said at the time that she'd probably just wind up shooting her own foot if she tried to use one. Now it didn't seem like such a joke.

"They're moving away," said Persephone. "They didn't finish the walk-around, I don't like it...shit, they're heading for your container."

Gabby thought her heart would just stop. "What...what do I do?"

"When I tell you, move to the long side of the container facing the ship. Got it?"

"Yeah." She edged close to the correct corner and braced her feet as she got ready to move.

There was the distant crunch of booted feet, barely audible to her over her own breathing. The crunching got louder as the asari drew closer.

"Now!"

Gabby slipped around the corner and just caught a glimpse of a bootheel walking out of sight. Nisell must have seen some tracks or some other sign in the compacted soil. Gabby shot a look at the _Helen_ , just visible in the hazy atmosphere. The ship was about four hundred meters distant...far too long of a run. If she tried it now, Nisell would definitely see her.

She heard a few more crunching steps. The other person had stopped, she realized. The asari was trying to listen, to see if she could hear anything.

"Hold position," whispered Persephone in her ear. "And don't make a sound."

Gabby gripped her module. It was kind of heavy and had sharp corners. If Nisell suddenly confronted her, at least she could throw it at the asari as a distraction.

There was another crunch of feet, and for one heart-freezing moment Gabby thought that they were coming back around to her side of the container. But then they began to fade into the distance.

"Nisell's heading back," said Persephone. "But she's moving fast, like she's pissed off. I think we've been rumbled. Get your butt back to the _Helen_ , we're executing Plan B."

* * *

Mackie was feeling distinctly like the proverbial fifth wheel. He tried to be helpful to both Nathan and Anedra, but clearly neither of them really needed it. So he'd moved on to trying to help the other sister, Sheia, with her catalogueing of the other artifacts that they'd found.

Nathan and Anedra were at one end of the long table in the camp's mess hall, working away and chatting animatedly with each other. Mackie and Sheia were at the other. Sheia had a big holographic display of the ruins which had lots of little marker dots scattered throughout.

"One pottery shard," said Mackie, "about two centimeters long, red with a black stripe."

"Got it," replied Sheia. She looked at her notes. "We found that...here." The archaeologist created another marker dot on her display. "Bag it as Sample A-739."

"Will do." Mackie gave the surface of the shard a little rub with his gloved finger as he slipped it into the storage bag. "It's odd," he said to her as he wrote the appropriate number on the surface. "It really does feel like pottery. But it can't be just fired clay. That wouldn't have survived this long."

"Well, that's one of the reasons they put this expedition together," said Sheia. "If we can replicate it or the stone in the throne room, we might be able to make materials that make Silaris armor look like tissue paper." She gave Mackie a teasing nudge with one elbow. "Your boss should like that. He can use it to protect against his 'Reapers' whenever they get here." She made finger quotes around the word.

Mackie tried to look sheepish. The cover story now was that John was an eccentric rich guy who was obsessed with finding evidence for the Reapers or means to combat them. "Well, if the boss is happy then I'm happy, I guess."

Sheia chuckled as Mackie's omni-tool gave a little unobtrusive vibration. He opened it and saw a single text from John.

 _Plan B._

He cleared his throat, twice. Nathan looked up and met his eyes, and Mackie nodded. The two men stood up.

"We've got to go," said Mackie.

"Oh?" said Sheia. "Too bad. Tell your boss that-"

"I'm afraid," interrupted Nathan. "That what Mackie means is that we _all_ have to go."

"What?" Anedra began to rise, only to be stopped by Nathan's hand on her shoulder. He had a pistol in the other, and was pointing it at the floor.

Sheia whipped her head around towards Mackie, who also had a gun out and was also not quite pointing it at anyone yet. "Pirates," she spat.

"Nope," replied Mackie. "We're the damn cavalry. You've got an Ardat-Yakshi on your team."

The two sisters looked at each other. "We saw the general alert," said Anedra. "But that was a month ago-"

"We found the shuttle nearby," said Nathan. "Her thrall was inside, dead. She's here."

"We're pretty sure it's neither of you," added Mackie, "So we're getting you both back to our ship right now to keep you safe. Things are kicking off, and you really don't want to be here."

"This is nonsense," said Sheia. "You're just trying to get us to-"

"It's Nisell," said Anedra. "It must be. She's been...kind of weird, just _off_. It started about a week after we got here."

"C'mon, sis." Sheia glared at her sibling. "You can't believe this."

"We don't have time for talk," said Nathan. "If we wanted to kill or kidnap you, we'd have done it long ago. Please, we have to go _now._ "

* * *

John slipped along the corridor towards Valissa's office. He hadn't run into anybody yet, which was sort of worrying. The two least likely suspects were safely out of the way, and now if he could just get Emreys out the door and into Persephone's care he'd feel a lot better about this whole mess. He could hear the distant sounds of arguing which resolved into words as he drew nearer.

"I told you there was something wrong about them. Why the hell did you let them stay?" That sounded like Nisell.

Valissa's voice responded. "It was an opportunity. We were going too slow with the translation. I think you're overreacting, he's just a rich nutbag with too much time on his hands."

Now he heard Emreys. "You're sure of what you saw? It wasn't just wind blowing dust around or something?"

Nisell's voice was deadly cold. "I'm positive. Somebody was messing with our damn ship. Now we can't trust it."

John peeked around a corner and looked down the corridor outside Valissa's office. The three asari were clustered there. Nisell was glaring at Valissa, who for once looked afraid and somewhat uncertain. Emreys stood off to one side with her hands wringing together.

"I also can't find Anedra or Sheia," continued Nisell. "He's probably holding them as hostages right now."

Valissa held up her hands, as if trying to ward off a physical attack. "Please, Nisell, let's just make sure of facts before we go and-"

"Enough!" barked Nisell. "You've clearly lost your nerve." She looked over at Emreys. "Do it."

The smaller asari visibly swallowed. "Are you sure? Maybe we can-"

"No, my dear." Nisell reached out and placed a gentle hand on Emreys' shoulder. "I'm sure. Please, for me. Do the honors."

That was enough for John. He came around the corner crouched low, with his pistol out and aimed at them. "Sorry, no honors today."

Valissa stared at him in disbelief, while Nisell gave a little snort of derision. Emreys' eyes were wide and fearful.

"Hadlock?" sputtered Valissa. "What the hell-"

"Shut up. They were going to kill you. Move away from them."

The expedition leader didn't move. "Now I think there has been just enough foolish accusations thrown around today. Mr. Hadlock, you _will_ put down that gun and-"

Nisell seemed to blur as she quickly tepped behind Valissa and out of John's line of fire. He saw Valissa freeze with a frightened expression on her face, and realized that the Ardat-Yakshi had a gun in the back of her head.

"Emreys," said Nisell in a flat tone. The smaller asari stepped around in front of Valissa. She now had a gun in her hand. Slowly and shakily the gun's muzzle began to rise up to bear at John. Emreys' eyes were filled with tears.

"Such a predicament," said Nisell. "Will you shoot two innocents to get to me?"

He almost did. Two deaths to stop the death of thousands. The math was inescapable. But was he really _that_ man any more? The man he had been before Helen?

During his slight hesitation, Valissa spoke. Her voice was quavering. "Nisell, please, what is-"

"You talk too much," said Nisell. There was a shot followed by huge spray of purple gore as the front of Valissa's face erupted. Emreys screamed.

John caught a glimpse of a running figure as Valissa's body fell to the deck. He stood and fired a quick shot at Nisell, only to see a spark off of his shield front of him as Emreys returned fire. He cursed and ducked back around the corner.

"Emreys!" he yelled. "Snap out of it! She's enthralled you!"

Nisell's mocking voice carried down the corridor. "Oh, you'll have to do much better than that, my dear Hadlock. Emry and I are very close now, aren't we my dear? Two on one, this should be interesting."

He turned and ran for the main airlock. He activated his comm as he ran.

* * *

Persephone met the group of four suited figures just as they reached the _Helen_. She had a rifle slung over one shoulder and another in her hands. "You all get inside. Cammy is warming up the engines, and Gabby is on board."

"We're not leaving!" said Anedra with finality. "Emry's still in there, and so is Valissa!"

Persephone held up a hand. "Nobody's getting left behind. Mr. Hadlock and I will take care of this."

"Hadlock?" said Sheia almost scornfully. "What the hell is a rich human twit going to do against an Ardat-Yakshi?"

Persephone was about to tell them all to just shut up and get on board. Her comm buzzed.

"Persephone!" yelled John's voice.

"John? What-"

"Nisell is Batara. She killed Valissa, Emreys is her thrall. Get on board the _Helen_ and lift off. I'll let you know when it's safe to land."

"Bullshit, John. I'm coming to help you."

* * *

Emreys was at the main airlock. How she'd gotten ahead of him he wasn't sure. Her delicate features were covered with a mask of Valissa's blood, and her wide blue eyes were set in determination. John ducked back out of sight and whispered into his comm. "No, do not approach. They're watching the airlock. You're the only one of our crew the asari authorities will listen to. Take off, that's an order. If you don't hear from me in twenty-four hours, haul ass to the monastery and tell them everything."

John cut the comm and waited. He was tucked away in a little alcove along the outer ring corridor of the main dome. After a little while, he felt the ground beneath his feet rumble and he sagged a little in relief. The _Helen_ was gone, and no matter what the Ardat-Yakshi was not getting off of this planet.

The intercom clicked on overhead, and Nisell's voice sounded through the dome. "Mr. Hadlock, or whoever you are, that is only a temporary setback. I have survived worse. I'll make you a deal. Give yourself up, and I won't kill you."

He risked a quick peek, and saw Emreys looking the other way. John slipped back along the corridor. He was looking for a good-but-obvious hiding spot. Maybe he could draw her out to attack him and then he could set up an ambush.

"I'll still enthrall you, of course," said Nisell's voice. "I figure you wouldn't believe me if I said I'd simply let you go. Besides, you seem like fun."

John really wished he knew where the intercom access points were located. Now, if _he_ was a psychotic mind-raping vampire with delusions of grandeur, where would he be? Grandeur...it might be worthwhile to check. It _would_ be a less obvious location, to go back to the scene of a crime. He retraced his steps and peeked again around the corridor outside of Valissa's office. The leader's almost-headless corpse was still sprawled on the floor in the middle of a large pool of purple blood.

"I'll give you a few more minutes, and then Emreys and I will come find you. Don't think that Emreys will hesitate, either. I gave her a little reward just now for all of her help, and she's feeling very appreciative."

He was sure that he heard Nisell's voice from the office as well as from the intercom. John almost charged in, but realized that it was too easy. She was probably trying to set up her own ambush, and was waiting with her gun pointed at the door. John looked down the corridor and saw an intersection beyond the office door. He tried to recall the dome's layout, and figured that there should be path to get there without crossing in front of Valissa's office.

Time for a reverse ambush.

John slipped out of his shoes and left one with its toe peeking out into the corridor. Then he silently slipped back from the corner and walked away. Sure enough, there was a hallway where he'd hoped and also no sign of Emreys. John all but ran down it, then back up towards the corridor. He took a look around this corner, and he was now on the other side of the door to Valissa's office. He could just see the toe of his shoe where he'd left it.

He pulled out a thermal clip from his pocket and hefted it in his hand, trying to get a feel for how far it would go when he threw it. Satisfied, John took careful aim and threw the thermal clip towards the corner where his shoe was.

It made a satisfying little clatter, audible but not too obvious. He saw a shadow in the doorway of the office; Nisell must be taking her own peek. And she must have seen his shoe, because her upper body then leaned out of the doorway and took aim at the toe of his shoe. It was a sound idea on her part; make him fall out into the corridor where she could finish him off.

John shot her twice in the head before she could even take proper aim.

There was another spray of purple blood on the wall as Nisell's body slumped to the ground next to Visella's. He padded silently over to the corpse and gave it another close-range shot in the back of the head, just to be sure. John almost called the _Helen_ at that point, then reconsidered. He didn't know how Emreys would take the news of the Ardat-Yakshi's death. Would she go into a berserker rage? Would the enthralling simply stop? He needed to get that straight before doing anything else.

John looked down at Nisell's corpse. "Well, let's see if we can make some use out of you," he muttered, and grabbed one of her arms. He began to drag the body back to the airlock. Hopefully Emreys was still there.

* * *

Emreys snapped her head around as John came into view. He had a gun, but was holding it up and pointed at the ceiling. With his other hand he dragged the Ardat-Yakshi's body into view. She pointed her own gun at him. This time the muzzle wasn't wavering as much. Her big blue eyes stared in disbelief at the body.

He dropped the corpse's arm and held his other hand up. He was about four meters from Emreys. "It's okay. It's over. I don't want to hurt you. Nisell is dead, see? You don't have to listen to her anymore."

"She promised me things," said Emreys in a hoarse voice. "You took her away from me." But her gun was wavering a bit more, and maybe even beginning to droop.

"I know, but she lied. Her real name was Batara. Please listen. It's over. It's not your fault, none of it is."

"She made me feel special. She loved me."

"You are special, Emreys. And Batara _lied_. She couldn't love anybody, not really. She would have killed you eventually."

The muzzle dropped a little more.

"I'm going to take a step forward, okay?" said John. The asari didn't reply, so he slowly did so.

Emreys' eyes blinked, as if she was emerging from a long sleep. "I...I didn't do anything bad. She didn't...make me do anything bad, right?"

"No, you didn't do anything bad. It wasn't your fault."

Her gun muzzle dropped more. "I was going to kill Valissa. She had asked me to and I was going to."

"But you didn't. I'm going to take another step, okay?" She didn't seem to really notice as he did so. He was now almost within reach. Just a little more and he could get the gun from her.

"I didn't," whispered Emreys. "But I was going to." Her eyes began to fill with tears. The gun dropped to her side.

"But you didn't. That's what matters. I'm going to come in close, okay? You don't need to worry." He holstered his own gun very slowly, then gently moved forward.

Emreys looked down. The gun clattered to the floor as she put her hands to her face and sobbed.

John put a hand on her shoulder. "Don't worry, you're safe now-"

She grabbed his hand and spun away, twisting him awkwardly to the side. He clawed for his gun as he felt her leap onto his back. Her other arm clamped around his neck in a sleeper hold before he could bring his chin down. He reached back and tried to get ahold of her head and flip her off, but she was able to dodge his pawing. John let out an anguished croak, then fell forward onto the floor as his vision began to fade.

* * *

He saw the floor as he woke. His head throbbed, and there was a thin trail of drool from the corner of his mouth reaching down towards the floor. He could see his feet, still clad in only socks. He picked his head up. John was seated in a chair with his ankles bound to its legs and his hands tied behind him. He couldn't feel the weight of his gun anymore.

John looked around blearily. He was in the center of the camp's mess room. The table had been pushed to the far side of the room. He heard somebody humming a jaunty tune behind him.

"Emreys?" he rasped.

The humming moved to one side of him and then Emreys came into view. She was wiping the last bits of Valissa's blood off of her face with an antiseptic wipe. "Good to see you awake, Mr. Hadlock. Oh, you poor dear. Here, let me get that." She folded the wipe and leaned forward. She gently wiped the little string of drool off of his mouth.

John's brain was starting to kick back in. "You weren't the thrall. Nisell was. Wasn't she, Batara?"

"Yes, darling." Those deep blue eyes held his as she leaned back. She gave him a wide smile. "I'm very glad to meet you. Now we can get _properly_ acquainted with each other."


	13. Deception

_Trigger Warning: This one gets gruesome, folks._

* * *

Camilla: You, sir, should unmask.  
Stranger: Indeed?  
Cassilda: Indeed it's time. We all have laid aside disguise but you.  
Stranger: I wear no mask.  
Camilla: (Terrified, aside to Cassilda.) No mask? No mask!

\- 'The King in Yellow', Act I, Scene 2.

Robert W. Chambers, _The King in Yellow and Other Horror Stories_

* * *

"So," said Batara, "What shall we talk about?"

John said nothing.

"You've got nothing to get off your chest? No questions for little old me?"

John still said nothing.

"Playing the strong, silent type, hmm? No matter. I have some questions for you. Like...what's your real name? I'm sure it isn't Edward Hadlock."

He stared at her. The face was the same as Emreys, but that playful gleam in her eyes was now gone and replaced with a much more predatory look.

"Oh darling, don't be mad." She gave him a little smirk. "Admit it, you're just angry that you fell for my little ruse."

"You and Nisell worked it out in advance?"

She nodded. "In case we were in danger of being found out. She would play the part of the big, bad Ardat-Yakshi and I would be her poor, innocent little thrall." She clasped her hands together against one side of her face and fluttered her deep blue eyes at him.

"And she didn't mind?"

Batara dropped her hands. "Mind? Hell, darling, she came up with the idea. You saw her. She killed for me. You really don't understand how deep a connection we had. But you will." She walked off to the side, and John followed her by turning his head. But eventually she walked out of his range of sight. She started humming that jaunty tune again.

Slowly, as to not be too obvious, he tested his bonds. There was no real hope there. He was pretty well trussed to the chair by something thin.

"Careful, dear," called Batara. "Don't pull too much. That's monofilament rope. Not as cutting as monomolecular wire, but still nasty. If you pull too much, it will slice you right down to the bone. Maybe even _through_ the bone."

He filed that information away. Batara must still want him alive, probably so that he could recall the _Helen_. His only hope was to get himself free or at least incapacitate Batara. If she was down, then all he had to do was wait for the cavalry to arrive.

One of Batara's hands stroked up the back of his scalp and pressed gently. The push made him tilt his head forward. He kept his eyes in motion, looking for any item that could be of use, anything in range. There was nothing in his field of view except the walls and floor of the dome.

Batara's other hand softly touched him at the back and sides of his neck, and she finally gave a satisfied grunt. "Hmm. Good. I don't think I damaged your neck with that sleeper hold. I have to confess, darling, that I haven't had much experience with human physiology." She gave the back of his head a friendly caress. "I'm sure we'll remedy that together."

"You think so?" If he only had a leg free, he might be able to do something.

"I know so. Don't be silly. You're done for, admit it. I will have you, body and soul." She walked into his eyeline again and placed a chair in front of him, then sprawled casually in it while smiling at him. One of her hands trailed up her thigh as she flicked her eyes over his body and gave a lecherous grin. "First, I will own your soul. And then we'll move onto the rest. You've kept in shape, my little mystery man. I look forward to playing with that body of yours."

Through his testing, he had just about figured out the binding holding his hands together. Batara had screwed up. She'd used one single line to bind both of his hands together as well as to the chair. If he could get one hand free, then both of his hands would be free. But that was easier said than done. The monofilament rope was tight against his wrists. If he could somehow get a lubricant onto his skin, he might be able to get some movement.

"You talk too much. Just get on with it," he said.

"And spoil the anticipation? No, my sweet. You're much too juicy of a meal to simply devour on the spot." She leaned forward and looked into his eyes.

John dropped his eyes immediately. He knew enough about asari to know that eye contact was how they started a Joining.

Batara gave a delighted laugh. "Oh, are you shy? I wouldn't have expected that from someone as formidable as you. Let's see...given your quick take-down of poor Nisell, I would guess you're some kind of Alliance wet-work specialist. But what would you be doing in asari space? Especially with such an eclectic crew."

John said nothing. He was thinking back to what the salarian doctor had told him about the enhancement he'd received. He hoped the doctor had been correct in his description.

"Did one of the Matriarchs make you an offer?" she asked. "It would be their style to send in a group of mercenaries. The asari are so worried about public perception. It wouldn't do to sully their pristine little hands."

John had to buy time. He had to keep her talking. "Sort of like how they stick all of your kind off in the middle of nowhere, eh?"

Anger filled her voice. "Yes. That is a perfect example, darling. The asari have always been sentimental fools. They imagine themselves as the benevolent caretakers of the other races. They think we should use our unique gifts to simply foster cooperation."

Batara stood and turned away. John looked up and saw her staring off into space at some vision only she could see. Her voice was soft, as if beholding a great wonder. "The asari ignore what evolution itself is telling them. The way forward is through domination. Only then can all species achieve their true greatness." She shook her head. "But they are afraid. Afraid of me and of my kind. But I will show them. Even now I am capable of so much more than they can imagine. Or than you can imagine." She looked down at him, and John hurriedly dropped his eyes again.

"You aren't that special," he said aloud. "Just another psychopath."

"Hmm. I don't blame you for thinking so, darling. But I'm not a killer, not in the way you think. Those I share my...ultimate communion with, they don't die. They live on inside of me. They give me knowledge. They give me strength."

He felt a finger touch his forehead and trace along his brow. "I suppose it doesn't matter who you are, really," she mused. "It's clear you're an assassin. You deal in pain and death, just as I do. Why not give yourself to me? I could always force you, but it's sweeter when someone gives themselves to me voluntarily."

John snorted. "No thanks, I've seen how disposable your thralls are."

"If you are worried about the example set by Nisell, then trust me when I say she went to her death with a full heart. I gave her a love that she would never have experienced otherwise. And then there's dear Janraus, the one who broke me out of that prison. We didn't have things go entirely to plan during the trip to Carcosa. There wasn't enough fuel for the shuttle to take off again. The original plan was for her to go and hide out until I had replaced Emreys and the expedition left. But that couldn't happen, so she insisted that I leave her to die. I gave her my final communion as a reward for her loyalty. A pity. She was a good commando, and taught me much. As you have found out."

John figured this was as good a time as any to start. He began to press his left wrist into the monofilament rope. As she had threatened, he could feel it cut right into his skin. He kept talking to shut out the sudden flare of pain. "Batara, you're done for. Your ship is disabled. The _Helen_ isn't coming back without a whole lot of backup. And even if you get off of Carcosa, your cover identity is blown. Everyone will know you're Emreys."

Batara ruffled his hair. "So you're saying I should give myself up?" Her voice was amused.

"I'm saying you should eat your own gun."

"Make it a quick and clean exit, hmm?" She grabbed his head in both hands and tilted it up, forcing him to stare into her huge blue eyes. He pressed his left wrist harder into the rope and felt a sharper pain, followed by a warm and wet feeling along his wrist and left hand as his blood flowed freely. He hoped any flicker of pain on his face would be misinterpreted as fear.

Batara shook her head. "I don't understand your resistance. I see such darkness behind your eyes." She leaned forward and gently kissed his forehead. "I offer you a chance to indulge that darkness. To fully embrace who you are."

John's voice was tight with pain. Again, he hoped it was taken as fear. "And then what? Fine, you turn me into your boy-toy. You're still done for."

She pulled back and smiled into his face. "You underestimate me. You will tell me how you disabled our ship, and I can fix it. I may not be as capable as that succulent little engineer of yours, but I am a quick study. And if I want a new identity, I can pluck one out of the air whenever I wish. The loss of the Emreys identity is just a minor inconvenience. I already have what I wanted."

John pushed his wrist harder. More blood flowed. The pain was still bearable for now. But the blood wasn't helping, the rope was still too tight. He tried to focus his mind on what she'd just said. It gave him something to think about other than the damage being done to his wrist.

"You have what you wanted? But the Emreys identity was what you were planning for."

Batara chuckled but said nothing.

He had to keep talking, to distract himself if nothing else. He remembered Nathan's concerns after they'd landed at the camp. "You let yourself be caught. There was somebody or something at that monastery you needed."

She let go of his head and stood back up. "It's a prison, darling, not a monastery. But yes, you're right. Can you guess why?"

John had to move to Plan B. The blood alone wasn't going to get him loose. He was going to have to lose skin too. Hopefully his augmented bones and tendons would keep most of his hand together. But he had to wait until she was very close. He dropped his eyes. "You didn't recruit the other Ardat-Yakshi there. They would have broken out alongside you. But you view yourself as the way forward for the asari. You want to have more of your kind..." He looked up at her. "You needed the records. The monastery's records would show which lineages produce Ardat-Yakshi the most. You want to start a breeding program."

Batara softly clapped her hands together. "Well done, dear, even if I did have to give you a few hints. I am just the first of many. It will take centuries, to be sure. But my kind are patient. You will be there at the start of a glorious effort. In a way, I'm sad that you won't live to see it. Don't worry, I will make sure you are remembered when my sisters and I sweep aside the old ways. The asari will truly come into their own. And your name, your _true_ name, will be sung through the ages."

John looked down. The time for talk was over. He could only hope that her enthralling attempt required her to get closer. "Says you."

Batara laughed and seated herself again. "I have to say, even though it isn't quite as pleasurable, enthralling someone against their will does have a spicy flavor all its own. And you are my first human as well. I will enjoy tasting you."

Again she gripped the sides of his face and brought him up to stare at her. He squeezed his eyes shut and heard Batara chuckle. Her thumbs gently moved over his eyelids and pressed up, forcing his eyes open to meet her deep blue gaze.

Her pupils were dilating. The blue in her eyes was replaced by a spreading black that eventually filled her eyes, making them into pits of endless night. There was a buzzing and a tingling in the back of his head, almost painful in its intensity.

She still wasn't close enough to him. He couldn't make his move yet.

"Yessss," said Batara in a voice like silk. "Look at me. See how deep my eyes are? You could swim around in them forever. I will hold you in my eyes for all eternity. You will never want for love, for closeness. I will be everything to you. Feel how much I love you, darling..."

Unbidden, he remembered the first time he'd laid eyes on Helen.

* * *

He'd been coming off of a job for Viggo. At the time, John didn't really ever 'relax', but he was trying his best by taking in a photography exhibit at a local art gallery. The pictures had piqued his interest as he'd strolled around and sipped the cheap white wine they always served at such things. Whoever had made these photos had an eye for both composition and lighting that somehow gave him a sense of peace.

And then he'd rounded a corner and seen her. Brown hair framed a heart-shaped face. Her eyes were hazel and friendly, although right now they looked somewhat trapped. She was being chatted up by a man with a sweater draped over his shoulders, black-framed glasses, and a man-bun. The effect made him look like a weird combination of yuppie and hipster. He was blathering on about framing and f-stops and clearly trying to impress her.

The woman glanced over at John, and he was suddenly nailed to the ground by those eyes. Not by their intensity, but by their openness. It was as if she'd seen him, all of him, and accepted him with that single glance.

John took another sip of wine and strolled forward. He simply had to meet her. The yuppie-hipster glanced at him as he came up to them, and John gave the man his Smile Number Six, which was his _I could snap your neck like a twig, so get lost_ smile.

In spite of a clear case of self-absorption, the man somehow got the message and moved away with a quick nod to the woman. John smiled at her. "My congratulations," he said to her. "It seems like your exhibit is going well."

The woman shrugged with a smile. "Reasonably well," she replied. "I've sold a few smaller pieces."

"Well then, this is your lucky day. I have a new house and a lot of bare walls that need covering."

"Oh?" She crossed her arms and looked at him. Her eyes were playful but challenging. "And you want my help in covering them?"

John laughed. "I trust your eye. My own is sadly lacking." He held out his hand. "I'm John."

"Helen," she replied as she shook his hand. Her eyes became even warmer.

* * *

"Hmm. So your name is John. And this Helen, who is she?"

John tried to pull his head away from her black gaze, but her grip on his head was too strong. "Not her, you bitch," he snarled. "You don't get her."

"I will, darling. I will have all of you." Her black eyes moved closer. That buzzing in his head grew louder, making it harder for him to think. "I will love you completely. And what is love, after all? Is is not the complete sharing of two minds? Who is this Viggo you were thinking of?"

Once more, he remembered against his will.

* * *

Viggo set the crystal tumbler of bourbon into John's hand. The gangster's study was set with dark wood paneling and lit with warm yellow light. A few bookshelves were set along one wall and filled with leather-bound first editions. John was pretty sure the books were just for show. Viggo wasn't one for the classics, even Russian ones.

John sat in one of the study's comfortable leather chairs. Viggo sighed as he settled his bulk into another across from him. The two men raised their glasses to each other.

" _Za Rovye_ ," said Viggo.

"To your health as well," replied John.

Viggo sipped his drink and leaned back into the chair. "So you wish to leave us?"

"I do. It's nothing personal."

The Russian laughed. "It never is with you. You are a perfect machine when it comes to work."

John took a sip himself. Viggo might not be a reader, but his taste in bourbon was first-rate. "I know this will cause some complications."

"Many complications. We contracted the Organization for your particular talents. And we still have need of them."

John turned the tumbler in his hands. "There are others I can recommend. Good operators. They'll give you good service."

"But I would have to get to know them. As foolish as it may sound, I am a great believer in knowing those you work with." Viggo leaned forward. "We're coming into a critical time. You know us and you know our situation. I will need you ready to go at a moment's notice. I can't afford to waste time getting somebody else up to speed."

John drank a bit more to hide his irritation.

"John, what is this about really?"

He looked levelly at Viggo. "I met someone."

The Russian sat back and his eyes widened slightly. "I don't believe it. No, actually I do. It's the perfect weakness for the perfect machine."

John shook his head. "I don't want to discuss it. I just need to know. Yes or no?"

Viggo thought a bit and sipped at his drink. His eyes glinted with humor. "I wish I could simply cut you loose, John. It would almost be worth it, just to see if you could actually live a normal life." He sighed and leaned forward again. "I tell you what. If you can make it so that we have no more need of your services, then you may go with my blessing."

Now it was John's turn to think. "All of them?" he said aloud.

Viggo nodded. "And it would have to be quick. Once they start going down the rest will go into hiding."

"I'd have twenty-four hours at best," said John.

The Russian laughed. "That many retirements? In one day? Impossible."

John drained his drink and set the tumbler on the small table between them. He stood and looked down at the gangster. "Consider it done. I expect you to live up to your end of the bargain."

Viggo's face lost some of its cheer. "Of course, John."

The assassin turned and walked out of the study without looking back.

* * *

"Fascinating!" Batara's voice was even more silky. "You are not some simple gun for hire, are you? I think I have found a very special thrall. You will be so helpful to me, darling."

She was leaning in closer. He had to fight it, to get her to move closer still. "Fuck. You."

"Oh I shall, my sweet. You will beg me for my touch." Batara tilted her head. "There is such darkness in your mind. I sense it now more than ever. Tell me your full name. Who are you, John?"

She moved fractionally closer. John thought she was almost close enough. "I'm the Tooth Fairy." He felt a sudden spike of pain through his head, like the world's worst migraine. He cried out in spite of himself.

"That is for disobedience," said Batara. She sounded like somebody disciplining a recalcitrant dog. Then the pain shut off like a thrown switch, to be replaced once more by that buzzing. But now it felt pleasant, like a warm caress of his mind.

"And this, darling, is for when you are a good boy." Batara smiled. "I can make you feel this good all the time. We are all such simple creatures, when you come right down to it. Stimulus and response. Move away from the discomfort and towards the comfort. So tell me, dear. Who are you really?"

"You'll never know."

"Oh?" The warm caress of his mind became more intense and almost washed away the pain from his wrist. "I don't even need to use pain, you know. I can simply give and then withhold pleasure. Enough of that treatment and you will do anything I ask. Who are you?"

Through the wonderful haze in his mind he kept one thought above all else. He had to get her closer. "No."

"Such an admirable strength of will. I will relish making you scream my name in ecstasy." She leaned in closer, right above his face. "Who are you, really?"

Close enough.

"You want to meet the real me?" asked John through gritted teeth.

"Of course."

"Then _see me!_ "

He poured his mind at her. Images filled his mind of the horrors he'd inflicted. So many dead, killed in so many ways. Faces that were half missing, heads with their backs simply gone. Gashed throats with blood dripping from them. A dead man with a knife sticking out of his eye. A woman with a pencil thrust deep into her ear. There was the frightened and burned face of an informant who hadn't given John some much-needed information, and so John had gotten creative with a soldering iron. Crushed limbs, snapped necks, explosions that had left nothing but scattered body parts and the smell of cooking pork...

Batara's grip on his head faltered under the welter of horrific images, and John snapped his head forward. His forehead smashed into her nose with a satisfying crunch.

Simultaneously, he pulled hard on his left hand and felt it slip free. The monofilament rope stripped the skin off of the hand like it was removing a tight-fitting glove, and he screamed. The huge flare of agony was combined with satisfaction as he felt the binding on his right hand also loosen. As Batara fell back in shock, he brought his left arm down and hooked at the back of her knee. He tried to ignore the raw and painful feeling of his skinned flesh as it made contact with her clothing. He managed to get his right hand up and grab at her arm as she flailed up at his face.

His hold on the back of her knee made her stumble back and fall. She toppled over, and his grip on her arm made John fall forward onto her. There was another bit of agony from his ankles as the rope cut into them as well. He crawled his way up her like an inchworm, ignoring her attempts to strike at his head.

Her knees hammered up into his torso. She was strong, and any ordinary man would have wound up with shattered ribs after such blows. It hurt him, but John's ribs didn't break.

She tried to get her arms around his neck, but he tucked his head in against his chest and shoved himself up along her body. Acting by pure feel, he found her neck. He pushed his head in, seeking her throat with his teeth.

Batara let out one strangled gasp just before John Wick bit her throat out.

* * *

He spat out the lump of gristle and purple gore into Batara's unseeing black eyes. Asari blood tasted odd and even more metallic than human blood. John pulled his left arm out from under the corpse and tried not to look at his ruined hand. With his right hand he reached down towards his ankles. They'd both been cut into deeply by the ropes binding them, but at least he hadn't lost any skin there.

Blood loss. He had to stop the blood loss first. With some fumbling, he managed to untie his ankles with one shaking hand. He looked around and saw that Batara had laid out several first aid kits on a table behind his chair. John crawled over and managed to pull down one of them. There were large bandages in them in place of the gauze he was used to, but fortunately they were easy to open. It was clumsy to try applying them with just one hand, but they had some sort of an automated function that made them wrap themselves around his ankles. He felt a stinging sensation, probably from some sort of medi-gel in the bandages. John hoped that the medi-gel was 'universal' enough to at least not poison him.

John's agonized breath sounded loud in the dome as he moved on to his left hand. He had to look at it, no matter how much he didn't want to. It was red and glistening like raw meat. Drops of blood continuously oozed from it and pattered to the floor like red rain. The first bandage that wrapped around his wrist nearly made him pass out from the pain of the medi-gel hitting his skinned flesh.

"Don't pass out," he said to himself. "If you pass out you will bleed out and die." He fumbled out another smaller bandage and tried to get it around his palm. His breath became sobbing as he let it wrap tight.

"Keep it together, shithead. Pain don't hurt." He wasn't about to try to wrap his fingers individually, so he went ahead and swaddled them all together. Then he placed his thumb on his palm and mummified his hand with another layer of bandages.

Only then did he allow himself to pass out.

* * *

When John woke again, his hand was one huge throbbing ache that came and went like the pain from a bad tooth. There was nothing he could do about it right now, so he put it out of his mind and took stock.

Batara's corpse was still next to the toppled-over chair. His mouth tasted foul, probably from some of her residual blood. John pushed himself up into a sitting position and looked up at the table. There was indeed a water bottle sitting on top of it. He got one of his feet under himself and tried to stand. His left ankle seemed usable, although putting weight on it caused a fresh wave of agony to run through him. His right ankle, however, refused to support him. John supposed that he'd gotten some tendon damage after all.

He leaned on the table with his left elbow and grabbed the bottle. Fortunately it was meant for zero-gee use, so it had a nipple at the top he could open with his mouth. He swished some lukewarm water around in his mouth and spit it onto Batara's body. Then he drank the rest of the bottle while he thought.

John had no idea how much time had elapsed since the _Helen_ had left. He also had no idea how long it would take his comrades to get ahold of somebody in charge and get back here. His omni-tool was destroyed by the same monofilament rope that had taken the skin off of his hand, so he couldn't call them directly.

First things first. The atmosphere should be automatically regulated, and there was only one of him. He should have enough air. So he needed to make sure of his water, followed by food. If he could find the camp's communications terminal, he might be able to issue a general distress call down the road if nobody showed up.

He set down the water. His right ankle wouldn't support his weight at all, so he had to find something to use as a crutch. John wound up using Batara's chair like a makeshift walker to hobble off towards the cafeteria.

* * *

After a few more hours, he'd scrounged enough water for twenty days and enough food for ten. The food was not a big problem; if he needed to he could go hungry for a while. Communications was a no-go. He couldn't figure out anything from the control panel in Valissa's office. Not only was he not that familiar with the tech, everything was in asari script.

"Next time, I need a visual translator as well," he muttered. Talking to himself helped keep his mind off of the pain in his limbs. He considered his situation as he sat next to a bare section of wall that was now covered with checkmarks. He was using a marker to figure out his rationing. If he stretched out his water supply, he might be able to hold out for thirty days. But that was pushing it. And that was assuming nothing else broke. If the atmospheric systems failed, he'd be breathing the soup outside very quickly. And that was assuming he didn't go into sepsis from his injuries and die that way...

John's musings were cut short by a rumbling from outside. The sound made his heart sink. At best, it had only been a couple of days since the _Helen_ had left. That was far too short of a time to go and get help, even with FTL. He grabbed his chair and hobbled as quickly as he could towards the main airlock.

Fortunately, there was a monitor to show the view outside the airlock. Unfortunately, it didn't show much. _Something_ large had set down past the asari ship and kicked up a huge plume of yellow dust. But he couldn't make out its shape at all. As he continued watching the screen, he saw several dark shapes gradually resolve into humanoid figures that moved through Carcosa's sulfurous murk. The figures were walking with purpose towards the airlock.

Batara had plans on top of plans. This might be a rescue team that she'd recruited earlier. He had found his pistol as well as enough heat sinks for fifty shots. It would have to be enough. He turned away from the airlock. There was a crate nearby that would offer the best concealment, and so he hobbled over and took up station. He knelt and pointed his gun back at the airlock, while allowing just one eye to peek around the corner of the crate.

The airlock hissed as it cycled and the inner doors opened. There was only one person in the airlock; a large, muscular, and definitely feminine figure. She wore close-fitting, white-and-blue armor. The newcomer strode forward and stopped dead just past the inner airlock doors. Her helmet was pointed directly at John's location. He knew that whoever this was saw him quite clearly. But right now it didn't appear to be holding a weapon.

He gripped his gun tighter as she slowly raised one hand, palm out. Then that hand moved ever-so-slowly over to just over her left breast. She tapped a symbol emblazoned on the armor; it was of a spread pair of wings with a circle underneath.

"Spectre," said the figure, in a harsh and electronically accented voice.

"Helmet off," replied John.

With that same careful slowness, the newcomer raised its hands and twisted her helmet to one side. There was a hiss of equalizing pressure as she lifted the helmet off. It was an asari with dark eyes and purple markings all over her face.

"I'm a Council Spectre, sir," she said. "Is she dead?"

John nodded. "In the room to your right."

The Spectre gave him a half-smile. "You don't expect me to leave you here at my back with a loaded gun, do you?"

"That's up to you. I have no idea who you are."

She smiled, but her dark eyes were still hard. "My name's Tela Vasir."

"I'm Hadlock."

Tela sketched a little bow. "You look like you've been through a lot, Mr. Hadlock."

John gave a grim chuckle. "You should see the other guy."

"I will. If you would allow me to let in my backup, that is. I think you'll want to meet them."

He didn't really have a tenable position in the whole matter. Tela wasn't about to just walk off and leave him, and he couldn't really shoot her without alerting those outside. Finally, he nodded.

With the same slowness that she'd used to remove her helmet, Tela turned back to the airlock controls and closed the inner doors. Then she touched her finger to her ear. "Come on in. He's alive."

There followed a long moment while she and John stared at each other. He noticed that the Spectre's eyes were much darker than any asari he'd met.

The airlock hissed again as it went through its cycle. Finally, the inner doors opened again. There were two smaller figures, one male and one female. The female was clad in a form-fitting black-and-white suit.

"John!" yelled the female, and ran forward out of the airlock. He recognized that voice.

"Persephone?" he said in bewilderment. He dropped the muzzle of his pistol, but didn't let it go.

The smaller asari twisted off her helmet as she ran towards him and threw it away heedlessly. She stopped next to him as her violet eyes took in his injuries. "Oh Goddess, John..." her voice trailed off as she reached down towards him.

"No." Tela's voice was hard and unyielding. "Don't touch him. Not yet. Both of you watch him."

The other newcomer walked forward and also removed his helmet to reveal Mackie's worried eyes. "Are you sure, ma'am?"

Tela's mouth twitched in a small smile. "I am. He could be enthralled. Let me make sure our main problem is taken care of."

Without another word, the Spectre stalked off towards the room where Batara's corpse lay. Persephone looked at the departing asari's back with clear hatred, then back at John. He held up his bandaged hand. "It's okay, Persephone. Let her check. I'm not gonna die on you in the next few minutes."

"We never even got out of the system," she said. "We started to depart orbit and then her ship appeared right on our tail. She got in contact and made us wait for a day or so while we did orbital surveillance of the camp. There was no communication and nobody coming out, so we finally persuaded her to go in."

Tela Vasir walked back in. Her face was set and even more stony. "Batara is dead," she said. "He's telling the truth."

Persephone began to examine John while Mackie made to move in the direction that Tela came from. His way was gently barred by a muscled arm. "No, kid," said Tela in a quiet voice. "You don't need to see it."

The young man gave Tela a puzzled glance, then visibly swallowed at the look in the Spectre's eyes.

In the meantime, Persephone had inventoried John's injuries. She gave a panicked look over her shoulder at the two of them. "He's badly hurt. We need to get him somewhere with a good clinic."

Tela's voice was rich with irony. "Well, you're in luck there. Been shot up so many times that I've used all of 'em around here at one time or another. I'll give you the coordinates for the nearest good one, and you can go and take care of him. I have your ship ID, so don't get cute and try to run. I'll get there as soon as possible, once I've called in local law enforcement and gotten them working the scene."

Persephone looked down at John, and he wearily nodded. "Fine by me. I'm not going anywhere for a while anyway."


	14. Recuperation

The _Helen's_ medbay had just about enough space for a bed and some automated equipment. Persephone made sure that John was stable; the human had passed out soon after they'd gotten him on board. She made sure to give him plenty of anesthetic before taking the bandages off of his skinned hand. The wet squelching sound as she did so would be something she'd remember for a good long while. His hand was now encased in a glove filled with medi-gel. Fortunately, he hadn't woken up at all.

She closed the medbay door and turned to face the rest of the crew. "He's sleeping. We should get going. Vasir gave us the location of the closest clinic."

"I don't like it," said Camicia. "That Spectre is _off_. I can't put my finger on it, but I don't trust her. We should run for it while she's busy."

"She knows our ship ID code," replied Persephone. "We could probably make it out of Council space if we run. But we'd never be able to come back without the law hounding us. And besides, we need to get John to a clinic anyway."

"Our medbay isn't enough?" asked Mackie.

"For most of his injuries, it's fine. The problem is the...missing flesh on his hand," said Persephone. "He needs to get it replaced using cloned tissue from his own cells. That's a lot more than our equipment can do."

Nathan nodded. "And we also have to get the Janis sisters to a safe location. This clinic that Tela recommended should provide an opportunity to do that."

* * *

The clinic on Trategos had accepted the sudden arrival of the _Helen_ and its crew with aplomb. Any questions they had were deferred by Persephone, who told them to talk to Vasir when the Spectre arrived. The settlement itself was far underground for protection against the bitter cold of the planet's icy surface. They'd parked their ship in an underground hangar and waited for the doctors to finish working on John.

The central area of the village was a large room that was set up much like a park. The lighting was bright and cheerful in imitation of normal sunshine. There were also many potted plants and even some small trees set here and there to give the illusion of outdoors. Mackie and Nathan sat on a bench and looked at a large viewscreen that showed a real-time image of the surface. Although it was apparently 'day' from the amount of lighting in the room, the outside showed a frosty evening landscape. Trategos' nights were spectacular. The magnetic field of the ice planet was highly tilted with respect to its spin axis, and as a result the auroras were visible even at low latitudes.

The pair stared at the evening light show for a while before Mackie spoke.

"Did he talk to you? He's said maybe four words to me since Carcosa."

Nathan shook his head. "Just a few sentences. Apart from that, John has not spoken to me at all. I don't know if it's just exhaustion, drugs, or something worse."

"What did he tell you?"

Nathan leaned forward. He placed his elbows on his knees and sighed. "That I was right. Batara had an ulterior motive and allowed herself to be arrested and deported to that monastery."

Mackie smiled. "I guess that's a win for you, eh?"

"No. I should have been able to determine her ultimate intent. It was obvious, in hindsight." He leaned back. "My mental model of her should have allowed me to figure it out. Perhaps I'm losing my touch."

The young man rubbed one eyebrow. "Okay, dude, let's recap. First, she was alien, okay? Asari look human, but they sure don't think human. Second, she was a psychic vampire who liked to suck people's souls out of their eyes. Third, she had decades to plan this out. You had, what, a week or two?"

Nathan shrugged. "Perhaps. It's still something I should have caught."

The analyst looked so stricken that Mackie reached down and took his hand. He half expected Nathan to jerk his hand away, but that never happened. "We all mess up, Nathan. The only thing we can do is be there to watch out for each other."

Nathan gave a small smile, and actually squeezed Mackie's hand. The little bit of physical contact made the younger man feel a whole lot better.

* * *

John stared out of his room's viewscreen at the shifting, glowing patterns of the Trategos aurora. His left hand was encased in a large opaque cylinder, which had several large tubes running into it from a plethora of equipment underneath his bed. The hand didn't hurt anymore, but it itched something fearsome.

There was a gentle knock at the door, and it hissed open to reveal Persephone. She came in and sat next to his bed. He nodded a greeting at her.

"How are you?" she asked.

"Okay."

"How's the hand?"

He shrugged. "Itchy. I guess that's a good sign, right?"

The asari bit her lip. "Yeah, it is. We just got a message. Vasir is on her way here. She'll probably arrive in a couple of days."

He nodded again in reply.

She looked down at the machinery underneath his bed. "You know...we could get this all on board the _Helen_. I've spoken with the other crew. We can be out of here in thirty minutes flat."

He gave a ghost of a smile. "Make a run for the border, eh?"

"I don't trust her. Maybe it's because of how long she made us wait. You were in danger, but she didn't want to hear about it."

He looked out of the 'window' for a little bit. "And what if our trail to Illium leads back into Citadel space?"

"We can deal with it then."

John shook his head. "We've done enough running around with half a plan. We have a mission. If Vasir tries to stop us from carrying it out, at that time we'll deal with her."

"Just like that? She's a Spectre, John."

"She's one person. Nobody's invincible." He looked down at the cylinder covering his hand. "Certainly not me."

Persephone looked at his encased hand as well. "I also wanted to say...I'm sorry."

John's forehead wrinkled. "For what?"

"I was the one who pushed you into taking on Batara. It was a distraction from our mission. And it nearly killed you."

He waved his good hand. "You were right about the necessity. Batara had plans that needed to be stopped." John looked down. "If anyone screwed up, it was me."

"You? No, you..."

"I should have done it. I should have just killed them all. Five lives in exchange for thousands. It was a simple piece of math."

The words took a little while to sink in. "No, that would be murder. Straight up murder. And you don't do that..."

"Don't I?" His black eyes met hers. "You know very little about me, Persephone. Not everything is in the Organization's archives. There is a reason that a bunch of scary Russian hard men called me the boogeyman."

"I know enough about you to know that you don't kill civilians. Those scientists weren't in the game. You did the right thing."

He didn't respond, so she pressed on. "And two of those scientists are still alive, thanks to us. Thanks to you."

John looked away and shook his head. "I've gotten sloppy, Persephone. Too sentimental for my own good."

"You don't mean that, John."

"I do. What happened on Carcosa showed me that."

There was a long silence.

Persephone stood. "Just get some rest, John. You'll feel better once you've healed up."

* * *

The Janis sisters had stayed on board the _Helen_ for the most part. They'd been set up in the ward/mess area with a couple of cots. They seemed to be okay with Tela Vasir's insistence that they stay with John's crew and not immediately depart. Mackie was doing his best to keep them entertained and at ease, but it took a lot of his considerable people skills to do so.

Now the wardroom was even more crowded. The six members of John's crew, plus the two sisters, plus the larger figure of Tela Vasir herself, meant that it was pretty much standing-room only. John idly wondered if it had been this crowded when the _Helen_ had been fully staffed with turians.

John's hand was still encased, but now in a smaller cylinder. Most of the new flesh had been grown, and it was now down to some final epidermal layers. His bedful of machinery had been reduced to a small briefcase-sized unit that whirred at his feet.

The Spectre looked at John for a long moment before starting to speak. "Thanks for not running. This whole thing is messy enough, and I didn't need the additional headache. So now let's get a few things in order."

Vasir looked at the Janis sisters. "My ship has enough room for both of you, and I'm heading back to the Citadel anyway. I'll be taking you home."

Anedra nodded and hugged her sister. "Thanks. But...why did we have to stay here?"

"Yeah," added Sheia. "I mean, we're grateful and all but we could have gotten transport off of Trategos a week ago."

The big asari looked flatly at them. "We need to get the cover story straight."

"Cover story?" Anedra gave Vasir a puzzled look.

The Spectre sighed. "This is a...delicate matter. Not only in terms of body count, but politically. The Ardat-Yakshi are not something we asari like to advertise. Councilor Tevos herself sent me out here to make sure this didn't become a public mess."

"So what _is_ the cover story?" asked Gabby.

"Batara escaped and made it to Carcosa. She replaced Emreys as she'd planned. And that was her _only_ plan." The asari's dark eyes looked at them all in turn. "Even if there was some rumored plot involving the Lesuss monastery's records - and there officially wasn't - those records are right now being re-located in a secure location very far away from the monastery."

Anedra didn't look happy. "Okay. So then what happened 'officially'?"

"Valissa found out about Batara, and gave the evacuation order. The expedition's ship was disabled, but luckily a passing vessel heard the distress call." Vasir waved a hand to indicate the _Helen_. "You landed and were able to get Anedra and Sheia to safety, but Batara opened fire and you all had to leave...yes, all of you." Vasir glared at Mackie, who had opened his mouth to protest. "Mister...Hadlock was injured in the escape. The only ones left planet-side were Batara, Valissa, and Nisell. After a considerable struggle, Valissa managed to kill Batara but sadly at the cost of her own life as well as Nisell's."

Persephone shook her head. "Local law enforcement would have found evidence of a human's presence. Blood, skin, the whole works..." She looked up at Vasir. "Unless you doctored the crime scene before they got there."

The Spectre nodded. "Your boy left quite a mess for me to clean up. Fortunately I work fast."

Sheia snorted. "But why such an elaborate story? So Hadlock got lucky and took out Batara. So what?"

"If you think his name is Hadlock, then I have some sunny beachside property on this planet to sell you." Vasir glared at John and tapped one side of her nose. "My sense of smell is first-rate. And this ship has the stink of something involving Alliance Intelligence. If his name is published as the hero of the hour, then people will ask questions about who, exactly, this mysterious Mr. Hadlock is. Those questions would blow this whole thing up into something very messy. And I'm here to contain the mess, not add to it."

"I'm not an asari, either," said John. "It makes it a cleaner story, having a heroic asari giving her life to solve an asari problem."

Vasir gave a mirthless smile. "I see we understand each other, 'Mister Hadlock'. Somehow I didn't think you'd be one to crave the spotlight."

He didn't smile back. "You're right about that. May we speak privately?"

The Spectre looked surprised, but followed John back to his cabin. He held his portable medi-unit with his other hand as he walked; there were a few twinges from his ankles, but otherwise John felt that his physical recovery was proceeding well.

Once in John's cabin he turned to Vasir. "I didn't want to say this in front of the sisters. They're in enough shock without adding paranoia to their problems. But if you're the one taking them back, I just want you to know I'll be watching. And I'll have friends that will be watching. We will want to see that they reach their destination without incident."

Vasir crossed her arms while looking amused. "This isn't the Terminus Systems, you know. There aren't that many pirates or slavers around here."

"I'm not worried about pirates or slavers." John kept looking at her steadily.

She dropped her arms as if getting ready to strike. Now, finally, he saw Tela Vasir look pissed. "You think I would do something like that?"

"I don't know you. But I see how much you're willing to skirt the law. Maybe it extends to those two asari. They are possible loose ends, after all."

"I'm a Spectre, you little..."

"I don't know the Spectres, either. As I said, we will be watching. I trust we understand each other, Vasir."

She gritted her teeth and nodded. "Yes. And as for you, 'Hadlock'...trust me when I say that unofficially the Spectres will know your name. And a lot of them have just as good a sense of smell as I do. For your sake, I hope you keep any future stink off of you. At least while you're in Council space."

* * *

Bast sat at the counter and sipped her tea. It was far too early in the day for something stronger. She groaned internally as she saw her contact walk through the door of the diner. He was dressed in dark clothes and sunglasses, and had a baseball cap pulled down over his head. The man kept glancing around in a manner that screamed _I am trying to be clandestine_.

Oh well, it was to be expected when dealing with amateurs. Bast caught his eye and flicked her own eyes towards an unoccupied booth at the front of the diner. The man visibly swallowed, but sat down at the indicated place without any further twitchiness on his part.

Bast picked up her mug and walked over to the booth. "Larry! what a pleasure. How are you doing?"

The Alliance intelligence analyst looked a little more soothed as she used his alias. "Hey, Janelle. I didn't see you here. Have a seat."

She took a seat across from him and looked him over. This guy was definitely a desk jockey with no field experience. "Hat off," she said in a low voice, but smiled while saying it.

"Hmm?"

"Hat. Off. And smile, relax. You've run into an old friend while having breakfast, nothing more."

He pulled the ball cap off of his thinning gray hair and set it aside.

She smiled wider. "The shades too. I feel like I'm talking to Ray Charles."

He complied, but his hazel eyes looked puzzled. "Who's Ray Charles?"

Bast shook her head. "You have no idea how sad that statement makes me." Then, in a louder voice, she said "How have you been, Larry?"

"Doing well," he replied. "But I've been busy. You know how it is, always too much work and too few warm bodies." The man chuckled, but he still looked scared. He started to say something more, but was interrupted by the waiter.

They placed their orders. He ordered enough food for two people, while Bast stuck with a poached egg on toast. Once the waiter had departed, 'Larry' looked down at his folded hands.

Bast knew that this was a delicate moment. Up until now, he had committed several acts of what could be called treason; copying secure files, placing them on an un-secure OSD, and carrying said OSD out of a secure facility. But this was the big step. He was going to hand it over to somebody who was quite clearly not in Alliance Intelligence.

"Larry," she said softly. He looked up at her. "You're doing the right thing. Don't doubt that."

"I know, it's just..." he trailed off.

She figured an appeal to his honor couldn't hurt. "You're not doing this for money. Your friends need justice."

His folded hands tightened around each other. "I just wish there was another way. Nobody wants to talk about Akuze, it's as if it didn't even happen. Those Cerberus bastards kill fifty Marines and everybody just calls it a tragedy. Even though we know it was straight-up murder."

There was a bit of an interruption when their food arrived. Bast thought through carefully her next words.

"What was their name?" she asked once the waiter had departed.

"Hmm?" His eyes looked confused.

She smiled, sincerely this time. "You wouldn't do this for just anybody. There must have been somebody in that unit you really cared for."

The man seemed to deflate a little. "Mindy. Her name was Mindy." He shook his head. "She's got her name on that damn memorial on Akuze, but that's all that's left of her. They never even found her body."

They ate in silence for a little while. In spite of his large order, 'Larry' seemed to have lost his appetite and just picked at his food. Bast kept up the pretense, throwing in little bits of chatter that included several made-up stories of mundane life.

Finally, 'Larry' looked up. "Just promise me something."

"Within reason, but sure."

His jaw set. "You promise me you're going to hurt them. Not make deals with them or anything like that."

She smiled again, this time like a panther getting ready to pounce. "Larry, I can assure you our intentions towards Cerberus are _entirely_ hostile."

He nodded. "Good. I've got to get going." He dropped a credit chit on the table. "There's a park on the next block. Find the brown-painted bench next to the fountain. I've taped it in an envelope under the seat. Good hunting to you." The man picked up his hat and sunglasses and left without another word.

* * *

Jackson smiled at Bast and waved her into Mrs. Carmichael's office. For something like this, a person-to-person visit was necessary.

"Bast, my dear. How was your trip?" Mrs. Carmichael didn't get up, which worried Bast. The other's 'frail old woman' act was usually just that; she was perfectly capable of getting around with no trouble. But now her face looked a little more lined that Bast remembered. She kept her face composed while she set the OSD onto Mrs. Carmichael's desk.

"It was fruitful," she replied. "I just hope this doesn't count as the Organization getting involved in politics."

The older woman chuckled. "No money exchanged hands, and the data itself does not involve any government. Two small but important distinctions which I'm sure Management will agree with. Did you have a look at it?"

Bast nodded. "The Alliance has a lot of data on Cerberus, but much of it is fragmentary. 'Larry's' main role was in tracking funds and material usage in Cerberus. It's clear that the outfit has really expanded its operations in the Terminus Systems in the last couple of years."

Mrs. Carmichael picked up the OSD and nodded. "Anything stand out?"

"Two big things going on in the Terminus. The first is something called the 'Lazarus Project'. Alliance Intel has no idea what the project itself is, but whatever it is, it's huge. The project has eaten up four billion credits so far."

"Well, well. It appears our friend The Illusive Man has money to burn. What was the other item?"

"The other project has no name, at least that they can determine. But Cerberus has been buying up eezo wherever they can get it. And most of it's getting funneled into one single location. It looks like they're building some ships."

Mrs. Carmichael tapped a finger on the OSD absently while she thought. "Why? If Cerberus needs ships, it's far easier to buy and refit them than build them from scratch. Unless they need a specific type of ship, one that isn't available..." The older woman trailed off as her mind worked, then she shook herself. "Sorry for woolgathering, dear," she said to Bast with a smile. "I appreciate your work on this. I'll have a closer look at it and see what I can tease out."

Bast gave her a little bow. "Always happy to help. Does this close out my account?"

"Not yet. John's been injured. He's on the road to recovery, but I think he could use an extra, er, hand. And he's headed for the Terminus anyway, so this information may be of use. I'm afraid I'm going to have to tell you what this is all about..."

* * *

The _Helen_ was not a happy ship. Gabby knew that it hadn't really been a pleasure cruise before Carcosa, but back then everything at least seemed to be working. Now a darkness had infiltrated the corvette. And as much as she hated to admit it, that darkness was in the form of one person.

John had always been a little scary, but since they'd left Trategos he'd been downright frightening. Gabby was sure he wasn't angry at her or at any of the crew. But something was eating at him, something that made him brooding and short with them all. She finally decided to talk to Persephone about it.

"He can't keep on like this," she said the the asari. "Hell, _we_ can't keep going on like this." Gabby leaned against one of the braces to the drive core, and felt the pulse of it go through her bones. The rhythm helped her relax a bit.

Persephone looked concerned. "He hasn't been abusive to you, has he?"

"No, he's been professional. But he's also been curt. And it's not just me. Nobody on this ship has gotten more than two words in a row out of him since we left the clinic."

"I know." Persephone crossed her arms and looked away. She was clearly upset as well.

Gabby finally had to ask. "What the hell happened down there? I mean, I know what happened to him physically but what did she do to him mentally?"

The asari looked with some sympathy at Gabby. "Exactly what you think. Batara tried to enthrall him."

"Is he dangerous? I mean, I don't know much about all this. Maybe Batara implanted some kind of command or twisted his mind, something like that."

"No, it's not that. Forgive me for asking, but have you ever been with an asari?"

Gabby felt a little heat in her cheeks as she blushed. "Well, no. I had one make a pass at me once, I think."

"You think?" The asari grinned.

Gabby cleared her throat. "Um, she kept playing with my ears and saying how fascinating they were."

"Oh yeah, that was definitely a pass. I'm guessing you didn't take her up on it."

"Yeah. I'm not prejudiced, it's just that I'm not interested in ladies. I know that asari aren't technically female or male, but they look female so..."

Persephone laughed and held up a hand. "It's okay, I understand. But you know about Joining, yes?"

Gabby nodded.

"The standard description is that the asari share minds with our partners. But that's not quite right. It's not like we just 'dump' every little bit of us into each other. The experience is much more voluntary. There are levels to it."

"Oh?" Gabby was intrigued in spite of herself. She'd wondered a few times what she'd given up by not reciprocating that asari's interest.

"The most basic level is sharing immediate physical sensation. That's still pretty fun, though. You not only feel your own pleasure, but your partner's as well. And depending on emotional compatibility with your partner, you can also start sharing parts of yourself. Your memories and such. The better that you, well, 'sync' with each other, the more you share."

Gabby was starting to see what Persephone was driving at. "But that's all voluntary, right?"

The asari nodded. "The sharing is consensual. But in Batara's case, it wasn't. What she did to John can only be described as rape."

Gabby shuddered. "She pulled memories out of his mind?"

Persephone patted her shoulder in a comforting manner. "Yes. And John...well, let's say he's done things in his past that he'd rather forget. He once met someone who showed him he could be somebody other than that. And for a long time, he thought he'd left that other part of himself behind."

The engineer pondered it a little. Part of her was curious to find out more about John's past, but she decided it was better to remain ignorant. "So what do we do? I mean, I've been on enough ships to know that our current situation is not healthy or sustainable. Maybe you could talk with him."

That seemed to surprise Persephone. "Why me?"

Gabby was confused in turn. Did she really not know? "He likes you. I've caught him looking at you since I got on board. And after Carcosa, the only time I've seen him smile is when you're around."

Persephone gave a bitter little laugh. "You think he needs a good shag, eh?"

The engineer blew out an exasperated breath. "What he _needs_ is proper therapy with a certified psychiatrist. But they're kind of thin on the ground right now. At least he'll listen to you."

* * *

John closed the terminal in his cabin and looked up at the flickering blue patterns outside his window. Back when they'd set out, that sight had been something he could stare at for hours in fascination. But now it seemed like just background noise.

There was a chime at the door. "It's open," he called out. The door slid aside to reveal Persephone.

"What's up?" he asked. They weren't supposed to reach the next relay for another five hours. Something must have cropped up.

She looked behind her. "Can we talk?"

Oh, it was going to be one of _those_ conversations. He shrugged. "Within reason."

Persephone entered and shut the door behind her.

"So who sent you?"

She shrugged as she sat on the edge of his bed. "Does it matter? You can't keep on like this, John."

"My feelings don't matter. Nor do yours, or anyone else's on board this ship. We have a mission to perform, and we will perform it."

"And then what?"

He thought for a bit. "I'll get another task. There's always another one."

"And _then_ what? Sooner or later your luck's going to run out."

"Then I guess it runs out."

She regarded him steadily. "If you're such a death seeker, then why did you agree to be frozen?"

John ran a hand through his hair. It was his left hand, and it still had pink unblemished skin like a newborn infant's. "I don't need to tell you that."

"Oh, I think you do."

John hadn't really felt anything after waking up in the clinic on Trategos. Now, finally, he felt emotion. It was a flare of anger in his stomach. "I was placed in charge of this mission. If you don't like that, then take it up with Mrs. Carmichael."

"I'm not trying to bully you, John. We're worried about you."

"I don't need your worry."

"Okay, fine. You owe me. You owe all of us. One way or another we all wound up on this ship because of you." She leaned forward. "And I'm not going to spend the rest of this mission wondering if one fine day you're going to just up and eat a bullet."

He glared at her. "I wouldn't do that."

"And why not? Why didn't you kill yourself back then? I've read up on what they told you. They gave you a fifty-fifty chance for the freezing process to even work. That sure as hell sounds like flirting with death to me."

John looked away. "I didn't see it that way."

"Then how did you see it?"

He stared at the deck for a while, remembering the time before he went into the ice. He finally spoke. "I saw it as a way to hold on to hope. I was just...marking time after Helen, after I got pulled back into the game. I was forever running around on some job or other for no real benefit. This mobster or that mobster would be in power, but nothing really changed. But, like you said, I figured my luck would run out sooner or later. And then I'd finally get some sleep without dreams."

Persephone nodded. "I see. You were a death seeker after all."

"I guess. Until Winston offered me the chance for a dreamless sleep."

She smiled grimly. "And without doing anything as dishonorable as suicide."

John looked at the floor. "Yeah. And I guess in the back of my head I had some hope that things would change for the better." He gazed out the cabin window at the light show outside. "And then I got unfrozen and, for a little while, I had the crazy notion that things had improved. We'd made it. Humanity, I mean. We hadn't gone and wiped ourselves out."

"You felt hope again," said Persephone. She didn't phrase it as a question.

He nodded. "I got distracted by all the shiny new things and new people...like you." John made a wry gesture at Persephone. "Even hearing about the Reapers didn't stop my optimism. For a long time, I thought I had left Baba Yaga behind. I thought I could change. It took Carcosa to show me the way things really are." John looked down at his rebuilt hand. "This universe won't let me be anything else."

"That's what you think now. But that isn't so. There's plenty of beauty out there as well." She leaned forward. "John, I don't want to see you like this. I have an inkling of what she did to you, and it infuriates me. Both because of the damage it did to you as well as to us."

"Us?"

She gave him a sad smile. "We mature more slowly that humans, but I still have a couple hundred years of experience more than you. I know when to stop dancing around and talk things over like adults."

John actually felt his face flush a little. "I thought I was being discreet."

Persephone chuckled. "Why not tell me you were interested? This isn't a military ship. There's no law against it."

"I guess I thought you deserved better than me. I'm not anything like a good man."

She arched an eyebrow. "Oh? And you think I'm pure as the driven snow? There's a reason I had to leave asari space and go work for a human syndicate on Earth."

He felt a tingle of surprise. "Oh. I see."

The asari rubbed her crest tiredly. "Listen, John, I'm your friend. No matter what else happens between us, remember that. And as your friend, I'm here to tell you that you don't gain an edge by being cruel. Or callous. You just get a head full of bad memories." She looked away. "Trust me on that. If you ever want to talk, just let me know."

She stood and walked out of the cabin without looking back.


	15. Adoption

_A/N: I just wanted to note with sadness the passing of Michael Nyqvist, who played Viggo in the first John Wick movie. Rest In Peace, Mr. Nyqvist, and may "The one you send to kill the fucking boogeyman" escort you into the next life._

* * *

John watched Gabby and Camicia walk side-by-side through the market. Korlus was a swamp-like armpit of a world, but it did have enough of an ongoing 'salvage' trade to make shopping for spare parts a fruitful enterprise. Gabby had requested the stop, since she was not happy with the current state of their inventory. He had agreed, and also offered to watch over the two while they shopped.

The hazy sun shone down through the spiderweb of cables strung overhead. The heat was strong enough to make John regret his usual clothing choice of a black suit. But, thinking back on his talk with Persephone, he figured it was good to get out of the ship and walk around. He certainly felt less moody. If nothing else, it was heartwarming to see the diminutive human and the towering turian chatting away like bosom buddies.

It was unlikely that anyone would try anything, but 'unlikely' was not the same thing as 'impossible'. And so John was taking note of their surroundings and watching out for anyone who might take an unsavory interest in the pair.

The two crewmembers stopped in front of one stall that looked to be built out of scraps of sheet metal. The salarian behind the counter perked up as they approached and began to look over his merchandise.

Somebody was watching him. He could feel it.

John looked carefully around, making his movements slow and steady. He didn't want to spook whomever it was. But after a thorough scan of his surroundings, he couldn't see anyone. Maybe his sixth sense was a little off after his ordeal on Carcosa.

The feeling of being watched continued.

John glanced over and saw that the two crew were still engrossed in conversation with the salarian. He did another scan, and still didn't see anyone looking at him. Then he heard a questioning little noise that sounded like 'Wirfl?', and realized he hadn't been looking close enough to the ground. John glanced over and down at the source of the noise.

His gaze met a pair of goggle-like purple eyes. The eyes were set above a toothy mouth. Two large and very sharp-looking fangs stuck up on either side of the thing's blunt snout. The animal was built like a huge bulldog. Its shoulders were higher than its rump and rippled with muscle as it tilted its head. Its slate-colored skin had purple stripes along its back, underneath a row of fleshy-looking spines. The animal's goggle eyes never stopped looking at him.

John walked closer. The thing was inside of a cage, and was pressing itself against the cage's back. It didn't look angry, exactly, just curious. "Wirfl?" it asked again.

There was a ratty-looking human standing nearby. The human was surrounded by cages, all containing specimens of the same doglike creature.

The human noted John's interest. "Hello, sir! Are you looking for meat or entertainment?"

"Sorry?"

The salesman waved at the cage. John noted that he didn't get his hand anywhere near it. "This is a fine specimen, a very spirited male. I nearly lost a hand to it, and it injured three of my colleagues before we could capture it. A lot of good meat on him, if that's your preference." He sidled closer to John. "And, if you're into that sort of thing, I'm sure this one would make a champion pit-fighter. Mind you, he'll need a bit of training."

John crossed his arms. "Um, okay. What...is he?"

The salesman looked a little puzzled, but plowed on. "I know his coloration is a little unusual, but I assure you he's a healthy varren...um, sir? You might not want to get that close..."

John ignored the man and squatted on his haunches directly in front of the cage. The varren tilted its head the other way and regarded him for a long moment. Then the animal pushed itself up and padded to the front of the cage. It flopped down next to the cage's front and pressed itself up against the mesh.

The human became a little frantic. "Really, it's not tamed at all...oh, dear."

John smiled and scratched at a little patch of the varren's skin through the mesh. Now that he was this close, he could see that the skin consisted of small, tightly-packed scales. The varren let out a little satisfied "Wirfl!" and pressed itself harder into the scratch.

"I...okay, I guess he...likes you?" The human sounded completely dumbfounded.

John stood. Now that it was suddenly deprived of scritches, the varren twisted its head up and around and gave him a hurt look.

"How much?" asked John.

* * *

Gabby had finished haggling over the price of fuses and was putting them into a duffel when she felt Camicia stiffen next to her. "What in the name of all the spirits is that?"

The engineer looked over and saw a commotion in the crowd making its way towards them. The crowd parted and she saw that the commotion centered around John and a big varren padding cheerfully along beside him.

The assassin gave them a smile. It was the first honestly happy look that Gabby had ever seen from him. "Hello, ladies. Did you get what you needed?"

Gabby nodded absently, her mind still reeling. "Um, John? What is that varren doing?"

He looked down at it, then up again. His face was confused. "Walking?"

Camicia relaxed, but this was the relaxation of someone getting ready to sprint. "Is it tame?"

John pondered. "I don't think so. The guy who sold it nearly lost a hand to him. That dude must have been a real asshole, right buddy?" He leaned down and scritched the varren on top of its head. The varren's goggle eyes half-closed in bliss and it made a little chortling sound.

"You bought. A wild varren." Gabby's voice sounded amazingly calm, even to her. "For what?"

He looked a little embarrassed. "Well, they were just gonna eat him. Or make him fight. I couldn't leave him there, he's too cute."

"Cute. I see." Camcia's mandibles clicked. "You humans are nuts."

The varren cocked his head and regarded Gabby. She froze in fright as it padded forward and sniffed at one of her trouser legs.

"Be nice, Errol," said John.

"You named him _Errol_?" Gabby just managed to keep the squeak out of her voice.

"Sure! He looks like an Errol."

The varren looked back at John and seemed to get the idea that Gabby was a pack member. He then flopped on his side at her feet and looked up with a hopeful expression. "Wirfl?"

"See?" John sounded triumphant. "He just wants scritches. Errol's a big old softy."

Camicia edged around the pair. "Really, John. Varren are extremely dangerous. You can't have one just walking around..."

Gabby very, very slowly reached down towards Errol. The varren gave a toothy smile as she gently touched it. Since he didn't snap at her, she felt emboldened enough to actually give it a quick bit of scratching along its scaly gray flank. The varren let forth the same chortling noise as before and leaned back into her. The varren was all muscle; that lean nearly knocked her over.

John beamed. "Like I said. Just a softy."

* * *

Persephone rubbed her temples wearily. "This is a ship, John. It's an enclosed space. Where is it going to go do its business?"

"Him, not it. I looked it up, they can be litter-trained like a cat. And our waste system can handle his poo no problem. I'll take of it all, don't worry."

She slumped at the mess room table and looked up at John's grinning face. "We are on a highly sensitive mission to prevent a debilitating war for your species. And you bought a Goddess-be-damned varren? As a _pet_?"

"C'mon, it's not that big a deal. He's adorable! Just look at his cute little face!"

Errol was standing right by the human's side. The varren looked up at John, then over at Persephone. His big purple eyes blinked as he smiled, displaying a quite alarming amount of teeth.

"It's funny, I read about how they actually smile like us," said John. "You know, most animals bare their teeth as a threat or an attack posture. But for a varren it means they're happy."

"How fascinating. I hope you also read about how they they eat everything. And I mean _everything_. They can bite through steel. They're as hard to kill as a krogan. And they breed like...well, like varren."

"He'll be fine. I bought a whole bunch of lizard meat on Korlus. And he's the only varren on board, so we don't have to worry about little baby varren running around."

Persephone kept massaging her temples as she felt the beginnings of a headache. "We have just spent a lot of time and effort to get your hand healed. If this...thing bites it off, I'm reserving the right to point at you and laugh." The asari sighed as she and Errol stared at each other for a long moment.

Then she looked up at John. She had to admit, he looked happier than she'd seen in a long time. "Okay. But you clean up after it...him. And you're the one who will exercise him and all of that. I'm not lifting a finger, I don't care how cute he looks at me."

"Great! Come on, Errol, I'll show you our cabin." John puttered off aft with Errol trotting close behind.

Persephone sat there for a long moment. "Humans are nuts."

"That's what _I_ said!" yelled Camicia from the cockpit.

* * *

Hito's purple cloud cover shone along the viewports beside her as Bast made her way through the station. The gas giant was a rich source of Helium-3, and that richness had resulted in several clashes between rival mining operations. They were still getting over the latest one, and she was fortunate that she'd found a tramp merchant vessel willing to run her out this far into the Attican Traverse.

The coded message from the _Helen_ indicated that they should arrive within the next few hours. As a stranger to the station, Bast had gotten many curious looks, and several of those looks were far from friendly. She sighed internally. It would be best to just find a place to hole up and wait for John's team to arrive.

Then she sighed again, audibly this time, as two men stepped out into the corridor ahead of her. They wore the armor of the Blue Suns. She couldn't see any visible weapons, but that didn't mean much. What was obvious was the leers on their faces. They had more than simple robbery on their minds.

"Hey, sister," said one of them in a raspy voice. "Are you just passing through?"

The silver-haired woman stopped and calmly looked them over. "Yes. And you want me to keep 'just passing through'."

"Oh?" The other man's leer stretched even further as he spoke. "You think so?"

Bast nodded. "I'm very sure. You do not want on board this train."

The first man gave a chuckle and pointed behind her with his chin. Without looking Bast knew there were at least two others behind her. "I think we do, sweet thing. We've got a whole other sort of train in mind..."

Her first bullet went right through his visor and through his eye. His partner didn't even have time to react before he, too, got shot through his brain. Bast spun and got three more shots off at one of the others. There were two more behind her, and they were already charging forward. The one she shot stumbled and fell, while the other managed to get inside her reach and batted her gun aside. He shoved into her and got her up against the wall of the corridor. Any triumph he might have felt was short-lived, however, as Bast's other arm wormed its way between them. Then her punch-dagger went through the bottom of his jaw and up into his head.

The merc stared at her with bulging eyes as she twisted the dagger, making sure to probe deeply into his skull. She yanked the blade back out and the twitching body toppled over.

"Shit," she muttered, then cleaned off her gore-covered knife hand as best she could against one of the bodies. There was a commotion from back up the corridor, and she figured it was not worth sticking around to find out if it was friend or foe. Bast turned and sprinted away.

* * *

Gabby brushed her hair out of her eyes. It had been a while since she'd worn it this long, and she'd forgotten how big of a pain in the ass it could be. It would be nice when it was long enough to gather into a ponytail. She glared in exasperation at Errol, who crouched with his haunches in the air. His fanged mouth gripped a wrench, and the varren chortled happily as he waved the tool about.

"This is not playtime, you little shit," she growled. "Drop that goddamn wrench."

How the stupid varren had gotten into Engineering was a mystery. She'd been minding her own damn business and doing some routine maintenance. When she'd turned around to grab that particular wrench she had found it now in the mouth of Errol, who then gave her a chortle and scampered off around the drive core.

Chasing him didn't help. He was much faster than her, and the toothy bastard seemed to think that she was playing with him. Gabby crouched, and Errol growled in happy anticipation. She feinted left and went right, and of course her grab missed.

"Wirfl!" exclaimed Errol happily. He seemed to be having a capital time.

The engineer gritted her teeth and changed tactics. This time, she feinted right and went right. She had a brief moment of triumph as her hands closed over the end of the wrench protruding from Errol's mouth. But it was very brief; the playful varren tossed his head around as she got hold of the wrench. Errol's bull-like neck was all muscle, and the force of that toss spun Gabby through the air. She felt her feet leave the ground before getting flung away. Her back hit a nearby stanchion with jarring force, and the blow drove the air from her lungs.

She lay sprawled on the deck, unable to move. Nothing seemed to be broken, but it was very hard to breathe. As she lay there and tried to get her breath back, Gabby felt a nudge at one boot. She swiveled her eyes up.

"Wirfl?" Errol no longer held the wrench in his mouth, and he looked genuinely concerned. He nudged her leg again.

Gabby raised a hand, slowly, and Errol nuzzled it with his big blunt snout.

She finally was able to draw in a breath. "I'm okay, you little bastard. You just knocked the wind out of me."

Errol gave a dismayed chuff in response and nudged her stomach with his head.

"I'm fine, just...we people can't play as rough as you can, understand?"

"Wirfl." He laid his head in her lap. The varren looked so sad that she gave him a few shaky pats on his head.

Finally she felt good enough to get up. "Okay, this is not your area, got it? Lots of breakable stuff in here. Now shoo."

Errol obediently trotted off as she shook her head. Scary guy or not, John was going to get an earful from her about the need to keep an overly-playful varren away from her drive core.

* * *

John opened the hatch of the shuttle and stepped back as Bast threw her bag up into the craft. That was quickly followed by her own gray-suited and lanky form. The interior cabin of the _Helen's_ shuttle was only about two meters long and two across. Having both of them in there made it a tight fit. He smiled at her and closed the hatch again. "So you ran into the local welcome wagon, eh?"

She shrugged. "I guess so. A single woman, traveling alone on the frontier...it's probably a miracle it didn't happen before now."

He seated himself in the pilot's chair, and Bast took the other. He could feel her eyes on him as he maneuvered the shuttle away from the station and out to where the _Helen_ sat in a parking orbit.

"I have to admit," she said, "you're doing pretty well for someone who only saw a spaceship for the first time a few months ago."

He chuckled. "Ah. I see Mrs. Carmichael filled you in on my colorful past."

"She did." Bast sighed and stretched her arms out above her. "And she told me about the whole Okuda thing. I've got another assignment for us as well."

"Oh?"

"Yeah, Management wants us to give Cerberus a headache whenever and wherever possible. I've got some data to help with that. I guess this means I'm in it for the duration."

"Sorry about you getting roped into this."

Bast smiled. "I'm being paid a significant amount, so it's not really a hardship."

"Regardless, we'll be pleased to have you," he replied. The sparrowhawk shape of the _Helen_ became visible in the cockpit windows and drifted closer. "Gabby's taken over the Engineering space as her quarters, so at least we have a spare cabin." He flipped the shuttle upside-down and mated it to its docking cradle beneath the _Helen_.

* * *

After cleaning off her hands and getting her bag stowed in her designated cabin, Bast decided that a meal was in order. It was nothing fancy, just a pre-heated ration in a pouch. But it was the first hot food she'd had in a while, and she took the time to savor it. She looked up as Gabby walked into the mess.

"I guess you weren't rid of me that easily," she said.

Gabby stopped and smiled. "Bast! I heard you were joining our merry little crew." Behind her was a man with a messy mop of brown hair and calculating eyes. Gabby indicated him. "Bast, this is Nathan. Nathan, Bast." He smiled and shook hands with Bast.

The operative reached into the lapel pocket of her gray suit-jacket and withdrew a small OSD. "If you're Nathan, then this is for you. Some Cerberus intel, courtesy of the Alliance."

He took it and looked curiously at her. "Do I want to know how you came into possession of this?"

"Nnnnoope."

He nodded and smiled. "Then I will not ask. Thank you." He turned away from the main table and walked off towards a terminal along one wall of the mess room.

Gabby took up a seat across from Bast. "So I heard you had a little excitement getting out of Hito."

Bast shrugged. "A little. Nothing I couldn't handle. Like I told John, I'm just surprised it didn't happen before now..."

She trailed off as she felt a warm pressure on her thigh. She looked down.

Bast had trained long and hard to control every single aspect of her mind and body. And that was the only reason she didn't immediately scream and throw herself back from the table. The fanged animal rested its huge, bullet-shaped head on her leg and looked up at her with soulful purple eyes. "Wirfl?" it asked.

The operative cleared her throat. "Um, there's a varren in my lap."

"Oh, that's Errol," replied Gabby. "Don't worry, he's friendly. Although sometimes he can be a little stinker. He's also a total slut. He'll put his head in anyone's lap if they give him scritches."

"Ah. Scritches?"

"Yeah, especially behind the ears. He likes that."

Very carefully, Bast reached down and gave the varren a vigorous scritching in the recommended place. The animal closed his eyes and chortled in appreciation.

* * *

Nathan growled a little in frustration. "This data would have been very useful for me to have, back when I was still working in the Alliance."

Mackie gave him a sympathetic grin. "I guess the spooks keep things pretty compartmentalized, eh?"

"Indeed. Of course, Cerberus wasn't my specialty at the time. But there are still some things here that would have been handy to know."

Mackie stretched a little and looked at his terminal screen. The screen mirrored what Nathan was plowing through from the data dump that Bast had given them. It was later at night, and there wasn't anyone else in the mess. Mackie had found Nathan still at work, and after the analyst had refused to go to bed he'd decided to volunteer as a sounding board for Nathan.

"So what are we looking at and why?" he asked.

"As to the 'why', we've been asked to disrupt Cerberus activities as time permits." Nathan then highlighted several bank account statements. "And here is the 'what'. I've taken Bast's data and correlated it with several other databases that I already have access to. Cerberus has a truly staggering amount of capital going towards this thing called the Lazarus Project. A good chunk of the money is going to basic research on neural repair, and another chunk is towards developing new prosthetic and cybernetic technology. And all of the results of this research are being funneled into one physical location."

Mackie leaned forward and read further. As he read the amount of money involved, it woke him up like a cup of strong coffee. "That can't be right. Four _billion_?"

"That's what they've spent to date. Much of it has been going into neural repair research. There is a lot of basic work being done at quite a few laboratories and universities, all being funded by money that ultimately comes from Cerberus."

"Fixing neurons," mused Mackie. "Well, I'm not a doctor or anything but the brain is the first thing to go after you kick it, right? I mean, given the name of the project they must be trying to come up with a way to bring humans back to life after they're brain-dead."

"That is my conclusion as well."

"So if you know this much, why keep digging? Bringing people back to life is a trick anybody would want. Especially a group of jerks like Cerberus. They probably just want to keep it to themselves."

"There are several things that do not quite fit. First, they are trying to fix not just damaged nerve cells, but nerve cells that have been long dead. It is a much harder problem to solve. Second, I am getting a definite sense of desperation in all this effort. They are trying to get this capability developed as soon as possible. And third, in spite of what looks like remarkable success, I don't get any indication that Cerberus is getting ready to mass-produce any of this technology. It's as if all this money and effort is going into a black hole."

"Okay, Mr. Analyst," said Mackie with a grin. "Look at it logically. If they're not mass-producing this technology, then it must be for just a few people. The Cerberus elite."

Nathan blinked. "Oh. Yes, of course. Mackie, you're a genius."

The fixer's grin got wider. "I do have my moments."

Nathan leaned forward and scanned through more of the data. It went by far too fast for Mackie to keep up, but finally the analyst leaned back. "It bothered me that all of the genetic information used in the Lazarus research is from a single human's genome. This project isn't for a few people. It's for _one_ person."

Mackie shook his head in wonder. "All that, to bring one human back from the dead?"

"It appears so."

"Who's worth that kind of money?"

Nathan laughed. "That is the four-billion-credit question, isn't it? If we can determine that, then any effort to disrupt or disable this program becomes much easier."

The blonde fixer shrugged. "Maybe it's for what's-his-name, the Illusive Man. If he's actually dead, that might explain why they want it as quickly as possible."

Nathan rubbed his forehead. "The damage they're trying to repair is very specific. Namely, they want to reverse the effects of exposure to death pressure and freezing for long periods of time. Unless The Illusive Man was killed a while back in some sort of depressurization accident, it doesn't fit." He leaned forward and rested his forehead in his hands.

Mackie patted his shoulder. "You've done enough skull work for one evening. I think you need some sleep, okay?"

The analyst sighed. "You're right. I have to confess, I've been avoiding sleep lately."

The younger man paused before replying. "Bad dreams?"

Nathan nodded. He looked up at Mackie. "I hate to ask, it's horribly selfish of me. But that last time I did sleep very well..."

In reply Mackie leaned over and hugged Nathan. "Of course, dude. I'll be your security blanket."

To his surprise, Nathan returned the hug. "I mean, I don't want to take advantage of you or anything."

Mackie chuckled. "Buy me dinner on Illium and we'll call it even."

* * *

From orbit, Illium looked much like Earth. It was a lovely green-and-blue globe that stretched beneath the cockpit's windows. John reached down from his chair and scratched Errol's head as Camicia took them in. The thin blue line of atmosphere expanded and then engulfed their ship. In the distance, the city of Nos Astra twinkled as they drew closer.

"So where to first?" asked Mackie. "Now that we're back in civilization. I guess we need to find this 'Ghost' character, right?"

"We do have a few contacts from Gelban," said Nathan. "But they're older, so I'm not sure how useful they'll be. I'm thinking we might kill two birds at once, so to speak."

John turned to look at him. "How so?"

"Thanks to Ms. Bast's data, I know that the Lazarus Project began after Cerberus had dealings with one Liara T'Soni. She's an up-and-coming information broker who is conveniently located right here in Nos Astra."

John didn't miss the slight stiffening of Persephone at the mention of the information broker's name. "Problem?" he asked.

"I don't have a problem with her," the asari replied. "But there might be hard feelings the other way. It's probably better if T'Soni doesn't meet me."

Bast shook her silver head. "If she's with Cerberus, I don't think any of us should meet with her."

"Ah, that's the thing," replied Nathan. "I don't think Liara is 'with' them, in that sense. She was on board the _Normandy_ during the chase after Saren, during which she participated in quite a few actions against Cerberus operations. As near as I can tell, she's only had dealings with the group once, about two years ago. Her reputation since then has been strictly neutral. We might be able to gently probe and find out her true feelings about them."

Mackie nodded. "And if we can find out what the hell this Lazarus Project is all about, then we might be able to give Cerberus a good kick in the balls."

John felt Errol rub his head against his leg. "Okay," he said, "Let's set up a meeting. I'll even throw in our true affiliation and see what she makes of it. Nathan, I want you there too. You do your lie-detector thing."

"What about the rest of us?" asked Mackie. "I mean, I like all of you but it would be nice to get the hell off of this ship for a while."

John chuckled. "Have fun, just be careful. I want a buddy system set up. Nobody goes off of the _Helen_ by themselves."

Camicia glanced over at John. "And what about your fanged little friend there? Does he count as a buddy?"

* * *

Nyxeris was an asari with a deep purple coloration to her skin and a very friendly smile. She took John's card with a little bow and motioned towards the chairs in the waiting room.

"If you gentlemen will have a seat, I will let Ms. T'Soni know you are here." She glided off through the door behind her desk. Nathan sat while John walked over and and looked out the waiting room's window. The view reminded him of that from a Manhattan high-rise, although this city was much more sleek and had a lot more air traffic.

Nyxeris came back out. "Please, come this way."

The office beyond the door was plain, although it did boast a spectacular view of Nos Astra's harbor. Everything in the space was clearly chosen for utility rather than appearance. Behind the desk was an asari with pale blue skin and wide eyes that somehow gave her an innocent air. She was dressed in a simple white-and-black suit that looked much less fancy that the dress worn by her receptionist.

She stood and held out a hand. "Mr. Hadlock, pleased to meet you. Liara T'Soni." Her voice was higher-pitched than Persephone's, and somehow hesitant.

John shook hands, and indicated Nathan. "The pleasure is mine. This is my colleague, Nathan Prasad." They'd decided to go with Nathan's real name to see how good her information was.

She shook hands with Nathan as well, then gestured to the chairs in front of the desk. As he settled himself down, John realized that the furniture was very comfortable and probably very expensive; Liara seemed to be someone who valued function over form.

"Thanks for seeing us on such short notice," he said to her.

Liara smiled and nodded. "You paid enough for the privilege. On Illium, credits are a sure-fire way to get someone's attention."

He smiled back. "So I've heard. We're trying to locate someone."

She looked levelly at them both. "And I am assuming this someone does not wish to be located. Someone who owes you money? Or perhaps you wish to kill them."

Nathan laughed. "Nothing so dramatic. No, we simply wish to set up a conversation with her."

Liara raised one eyebrow. "Her? Perhaps you'd better start at the beginning."

Nathan looked a question at John, who nodded in reply. "We know it's a she," Nathan said to Liara. "And that she's human, and has a base of operations here on Illium. But that's all we know. She is known as 'the Ghost', but I'm pretty sure that's a name that others have given to her. I have some contact information that is almost certainly out of date. And, as I said, our intentions towards this person are not hostile. We just want to meet and talk in a neutral location."

The asari leaned back in her chair. "And if I can put you in touch with this...'Ghost', you would be willing to pay for the opportunity?"

Nathan nodded.

John cleared his throat. "Unfortunately, there is a bit of a time pressure on this."

Liara gave a sad little laugh. "Of course. There always is. Faster costs more, you know."

John smiled at her. "I think we would be willing to pay you a significant bonus." He placed his hand on her desktop and slid a stack of five gold coins across to her.

Liara tapped her fingers together and regarded the coins as if they were an unexploded bomb on her desk. "I see. So you're with _them_."

John leaned back in his comfortable chair. "Yes, ma'am, we are. If that is a problem, we can leave right now. With no hard feelings on either side, I hope."

"Why would there be hard feelings?" Liara's voice was now very soft but also very controlled. Her eyes still looked innocent, but John wasn't fooled for a second.

John shrugged. "Well, given your past associations, you might have issues with us."

Liara placed her hands flat on the desk and looked at them both with irritation. "Let's stop dancing around each other, gentlemen. You're worried about my prior dealing with Cerberus."

Nathan peered closely at her. "You have to admit, it could be a concern to us."

She gave an amused glance back at the analyst. "You mean, given that your Organization and Cerberus are now apparently locked in opposition? I can appreciate that." She sighed. "But rest assured, gentlemen, my affair with Cerberus was a one-time-only matter."

Nathan looked at John and nodded. It was clear that the analyst was seeing something positive that John couldn't. So John made a 'go ahead' gesture. Nathan seemed to have good instincts.

The analyst cleared his throat. "All right. All cards on the table, as it were."

"Played according to Hoyle?" asked Liara with a tight smile.

Nathan chuckled. "Of course. Our primary goal is to speak with this 'Ghost' person. But we also have information on a Cerberus operation called the Lazarus Project. The genesis of which was apparently kicked off by your previous dealing with Cerberus."

She gazed down at the desktop. "Lazarus...a figure from human mythology, yes?"

Nathan nodded. "One who was raised from the dead."

Liara continued to stare down between her steepled fingers. From her face, John knew that her memories were not pleasant. "What is your interest in this project?"

John leaned forward. "To disrupt it. Cerberus has spent a lot of money on it, and if we can..."

"No." Her voice was soft but final.

The assassin raised an eyebrow. "Really? I thought your dealings with Cerberus were over."

Liara brought her eyes up to stare at him. "You must allow that project to continue." She gave a bitter little laugh. "If it _can_ continue."

Nathan gazed at her. John knew he was doing his lie-detector trick, and wondered how well it worked on asari. "From our own data, it appears that they have made very significant strides. Perhaps even succeeded."

Liara's face showed a brief flicker of shock. "Succeeded?"

The analyst nodded. "Maybe you should tell us what this is all about. If we're playing according to Hoyle, that is."

The asari stood and faced out of the window. "I'm surprised, Mr. Prasad. An analyst of your ability should have been able to piece together the clues. Especially once you knew I was involved. You shouldn't have to resort to parlor tricks like your micro-expression analysis of my face."

Nathan gave a guilty little start, then leaned back in irritation. "All right. We've deduced that Lazarus is focused on restoring a single individual. One who was dead for a significant amount of time, and who was most likely killed in some kind of depressurization or freezing accident. And it started about two years ago, after you met with Cerberus." His eyes widened. "Which was after the destruction of the _Normandy_."

"Yes," she said. Liara didn't turn around.

"It can't be."

"It is." Liara now sounded amused at Nathan's disbelief. "And now you say they've succeeded. I gave Cerberus a body, gentlemen. And in return they made me a promise. One they may actually keep after all." She turned back to face them, and John was surprised to see a genuine smile on her face. "I have to thank you both for bringing me a bit of hope."

Nathan slumped in his chair. "Why him? Why such effort for one man?"

"Because he's one of the few who will fight them."

"You mean the Reapers? There are plenty of others willing to fight them."

"Ah, but _he_ just might win. It's what he does, Mr. Prasad. He _wins_."

John finally had enough with the circular dialogue. "Speaking as the dumb leg-breaker in the room, can either of you clue me in?"

"It's Shepard," said Nathan. He shook himself a little. "They're trying to resurrect John Shepard."

John looked askance at Liara. "From what little I know, he wouldn't exactly be friendly with Cerberus. Aren't you worried that they might have, well, altered him?"

Liara sat again. She looked older and more tired than when they had first come in. "I won't lie, it did worry me. But they promised to restore him 'as he was'. I think The Illusive Man is concerned that messing with Shepard's mind would blunt his effectiveness."

John pondered their options, then shrugged. "All right. We will leave this 'Project Lazarus' alone. Unless Shepard comes back as a zombifed Cerberus fanatic, of course."

She gave a grim smile. "In _that_ case, Mr. Hadlock, The Illusive Man had better pray that I never get hold of him." She looked down at the stack of gold coins. "But it seems we've gotten distracted from your primary request."

After a little bit of consideration, Liara leaned forward and plucked the coins off of the table. "I will set up a call with this 'Ghost' of yours, gentlemen. As soon as possible."

* * *

After they had left, Liara called in Nyxeris. "Did you find their ship?" she asked her adjutant.

Nyxeris nodded, and called up some files on her omni-tool. "I did. It's the Merchant Vessel _Helen of Troy_. Has a human name, but it's actually a refitted turian corvette. Apparently has a crew of seven, which includes the two who were just here. I was able to hack in and obtain some pictures from the security cameras at the docks; I'm forwarding those to you now."

Liara opened her own omni-tool to look through the images. "Pretty bad resolution on those security cameras. They make one of the crew look like a varren. Oh, wait...it really is a varren." She tilted her head. "Why do they have a varren?."

Nyxeris shrugged. "Your guess is as good as mine. It seems our Mr. Hadlock has a pretty eclectic crew."

Liara smiled. "Seems like it. There's even an asari with him." Then her smile dropped away as she peered more closely at the images. "Oh, Goddess. It's her."


	16. Confession

_"And the book says, 'We may be through with the past, but the past ain't through with us.'"_  
 _\- Jimmy Gator, "Magnolia"_

* * *

"Welcome to the Nos Astra Continental, sir. How may I help you?"

John handed a coin to the salarian behind the reception desk. "Do you have a sommelier that you can recommend? Preferably one that also deals in omni-tools with certain unique features."

The salarian looked a little puzzled, then nodded in comprehension. "Certainly, sir. I know just the place. I'll ring them up for you. I believe they can see you right away, if that is your preference."

John nodded. "That would be great, thanks. Oh, and do you also know of any good veterinary clinics in the area?"

* * *

"Just to be clear, this does _not_ count as me taking him for a walk." Persephone's face glowered as they made their way through a crowded boulevard in Nos Astra. She noted that their little trio was given a wide berth in spite of the crowding, most likely due to the big, toothy varren that trotted along between her and John Wick.

"Of course not!" John sounded far too cheerful. "I'm the one taking Errol for a walk to the V-E-T, and you're the one watching my back."

She gave him an exasperated look. "Really? You think you have to spell out certain words in his presence?"

"Yep. He's a smart cookie, aren't you Errol?"

Errol looked up and smiled at the mention of his name. John gave him a vigorous massage behind the ears, and the varren chuffed happily.

Persephone looked on in amazement as the fearsome figure of Baba Yaga began talking utter nonsense. "Who's my big boy? Lookit the big boy! Whooozabigfuzzywuzzy?"

"Right, I am officially ignoring you," she muttered. Mercifully, they reached the veterinary clinic before he could babble on much longer.

They walked through the sliding doors into a sunlit waiting area. It was still early in the morning, and the room was empty for the moment. The vet, a cheerful-looking human, bustled out from the back. He suddenly looked less cheerful when he laid eyes on Errol.

"Did it bite you? I can scan it for rabies and the rest."

John narrowed his eyes. " _It_ is a he. And no, he didn't bite me, he's my pet. His name's Errol. I wanted him to get a check-up and whatever shots he needs."

The vet stared at John as if he'd grown a second head. "Shots."

"Yeah. I admit, I've never owned a varren before so I'm not sure what-all vaccinations they need."

The man stifled a laugh. "Sorry, but he's a _varren_. I could inject him with a pure strain of Hofdel Shaking-Fever and he'd shrug it off like a mild cold."

"That's a relief," said John. "So they don't really get sick?"

The vet shrugged. "Well, they can sometimes get a little skin condition called scale itch. But they only get that by fooling around with other varren. Has he been scratching himself excessively?"

John looked at Persephone as if seeking input. "I don't think so," he said. "But I just got him a little while ago."

The man sighed. He reached behind the front desk and retrieved a pair of chain-mail gloves. He pulled them on, and Persephone saw that they covered his arms clear up to his shoulders. "All right, let me do a checkup on him. Um, does he bite?"

Persephone finally spoke up. "Surprisingly, no. Just move slowly."

Errol seemed a little unsure about the newcomer intruding into his personal space, but a murmured encouragement from John was enough to get him to settle down and let the vet look him over.

The man straightened up. "Good, no whitening of the scales or excessive shedding. He looks fine."

John smiled and called up his brand-new omni-tool to issue payment.

Persephone looked curiously at the man's gloves. "You seem well prepared. Do you get a lot of varren in here?"

The vet laughed. "No, actually." He waggled his armored fingers. "These are for all of the _other_ weird pets that people bring in here. Plenty of fangs and talons to keep at bay."

She smiled. "What's the strangest thing you've seen?"

"Well, the oddest was when someone came in and tried to get me to register an elcor as their pet. I think it was some kind of tax dodge."

* * *

Persephone caught a glimpse of purple skin behind them on the way back to the ship. It was a color she'd seen earlier, near the vet's office. "We've got a tail," she said casually.

The trio walked around a bend in the corridor. They were about half-way back to the ship, and the crowds had thinned to almost nothing.

"I saw," replied John. "It's T'Soni's receptionist, Nyxeris."

She gave a very un-asari like grunt. "Either Liara needs to get a more competent class of people, or she let herself be seen."

"I'm guessing the latter," he replied. "But I don't think it's nefarious. T'Soni's probably just checking that we're who we say we are. And she's letting us know that she's keeping tabs on us."

Persephone slightly shook her head. "Thinking is one thing, but we have to know." Privately, she wondered if Liara already had a picture of her. If so, maybe the best course of action would be to lay low on the _Helen_ until they were well away from Illium. No, that was ridiculous. She was here to do a job, and she couldn't do that while squatting on board a ship.

"What do you suggest?" asked John.

"We split up," she replied. They turned another corner, and this corridor was deserted. "You head back to the _Helen_ , and I'll double back and follow our little shadow. Then I can see if she's just keeping tabs on us or what."

John glanced at her. It was clear he knew something more was going on. Aloud, he said "And what if she follows you?"

"Well then we know who Liara's really interested in, don't we?"

"I don't like it."

She touched his arm. "I can look after myself, John. I'll call you as soon as I can."

They had come to a T-intersection. Persephone glanced behind her and didn't see Nyxeris yet. Before he could object, she peeled off and headed down the corridor that led away from the docks. She ducked into a nearby alcove and waited, peeking out back towards the intersection.

John must have decided to play along, because he was walking away from her with Errol padding alongside him. Persephone drew back into the alcove as she saw Nyxeris enter the intersection.

She drew her pistol and waited. This was the moment of truth. If Nyxeris followed John, then it was probably just Liara being cautious. If Nyxeris followed her, that was a whole other matter.

Persephone waited, breathing quietly. The stained walls of the corridor stood out under the harsh fluorescent lighting overhead, and the floor's concrete was worn in the center from decades of traffic.

There was a soft step, almost unheard in the corridor. Nyxeris glanced automatically into the alcove as she passed, and saw Persephone. Just as her eyes widened, Persephone pounced.

She grabbed the taller asari by the shoulder and jammed her gun under Nyxeris' jaw. "No noise, no sound," she grated, and pulled Nyxeris into the alcove with her. Then she pushed the purple asari against the far wall of the alcove, keeping her gun trained on her all the while. Liara's flunky was dressed in a simple blue dress that contrasted nicely with her skin.

For her part, Nyxeris kept her hands up and visible. Her eyes were wide and fearful, although Persephone figured she might just be a really good actor.

Persephone spoke quietly. "No loud yelling. I ask, you answer. Quietly. Nod if you understand."

Nyxeris nodded.

"Good. Were you sent to follow me specifically?"

The other asari nodded again.

Persephone gave a little sigh. "Damn it all. Listen, I don't want any trouble. I bear no ill will towards Liara T'Soni. I'm just here to do a job and that's it. I'll be gone from here soon enough. You go back and tell her that."

A soft voice sounded from just outside the alcove. "Why not tell me yourself?"

Persephone sagged. "I must be getting rusty," she muttered. Then she gave Nyxeris a glare and motioned with her head. "Go on. Get lost."

The adjutant now looked much less frightened. She shrugged apologetically and walked off down the corridor.

Persephone gave a bigger sigh and holstered her gun. Then she stepped back out into the corridor and turned to face Liara. She made sure to keep her hands visible at her sides.

Liara was mirroring her hands-by-her-sides posture. She wore a white suit trimmed with black, the same colors as Persephone's own skin-tight catsuit. "It's been a long time," said Liara with a smile. "I thought we could go out for some tea. And talk."

"Just talk?"

Liara nodded.

Persephone relaxed slightly. "Well, if we're going to have the conversation I think we are...we're going to need something stronger than tea."

* * *

Liara regarded the smaller asari that slouched in the seat across from her. They had found a bar that was open in the morning - this was Nos Astra, after all - and had slipped the bartender a goodly amount of credits to leave the bottle on the table. The bartender got the hint and was scrupulously leaving them alone. Liara poured each of them a shot.

The other asari tossed hers back before Liara could even take a sip. Her violet eyes stared at Liara. "So, shoot. It's your meeting."

Liara smiled, trying to put her at ease. "I was happy to hear that you were alive, Maes-"

"No. That's not my name anymore. Call me Persephone."

"Just Persephone?"

"Just that." Persephone refilled her glass and this time sipped at it. "Why were you glad that I was alive?"

The broker's brow wrinkled in puzzlement. "Why wouldn't I be? I don't understand why you think I'm upset with you."

"I know you were fighting alongside that Spectre when he took down your mother on Noveria. I figure you didn't care for her much. And after all, I had been off doing all of that wet-work for her."

Liara rubbed her crest. "You had sworn an oath to your Matriarch. You were doing what she asked you to do."

"She gave us a choice. Did you know that?"

The broker shook her head, and Persephone continued. "She gathered all of us together and told us about Saren, about his plans. Benezia thought she could steer him away from his goals and keep it from becoming a military matter. So she said she was going to join him, and then gave us all a choice. I didn't have to follow her. But I did."

"You trusted her completely. And I remember how she trusted you completely. She told me once that you were her most effective intelligence operative."

Persephone nodded, her eyes haunted. "I guess I was. Hell, I was the one who found out that crazy turian bastard was working with the geth." She drank the rest of her shot and poured another.

Liara remembered the carnage after the Noveria mission. "If anything, you should be angry with me. I helped kill your Matriarch, after all. Along with all of the commandos still with her. They were your friends."

Persephone shrugged, clearly not angry at all. "They made their choices, I guess. Same as me."

"I looked specifically for you, after it was all...over. But I didn't find your body. I thought you must have been killed sometime before Benezia reached Noveria."

The smaller asari looked up with surprise. "Why did you look for me?"

Liara sighed. "You were kind to me when I was a child. That, and I loved the travel stories you told me." She smiled. "I guess the notion of travelling for a living is one of the things that drew me to archeology. As I said, I was happy to hear later on that you were alive."

Persephone looked away. "Thanks. I admit, my...association with your mother was fun for a long time. Before Saren. Before Benezia asked me to start doing more than just gathering intel."

Liara decided to take a chance, and reached across the small table. She gently gripped Persephone's hand. "I've heard about what she had you do. It wasn't your fault."

The other asari chuckled sadly. "You can say that all you like, but we both know differently. I wasn't anywhere near Saren's ship most of the time, so there wasn't any of that strange mind control stuff going on. It was me all the way. Following orders like an idiot."

Liara poured them each another shot. She didn't quite toss hers back, but she did drink it more quickly than before. "You did stop, though. You broke your ties with her before Noveria. That was also you, all the way."

"I didn't stop soon enough."

There was a silence while they both drank. Liara was about two shots behind Persephone, and she could feel her senses start to fuzz over. The little ex-commando must have been feeling it even more, but she wasn't showing it.

"So you're working with humans, now?" It wasn't much of a topic change, but it would hopefully turn the conversation into lighter areas.

Persephone smiled. "Well, my name was infamous all through of asari space. Nobody would have anything to do with me. Fortunately, the Organization didn't care. And they let me change my name."

"I have to admit, I'm a little surprised. I didn't picture you doing assassin-for-hire work."

The smaller asari laughed. "I wasn't. I was manning a hotel desk and running security for a year or so, in an Earth city called Prague. It was nice, boring work." She shook her head. "And then I had to go and show _initiative_. Now I'm back out running around the galaxy. And bumping into old acquaintances." She gave Liara an ironic salute with her glass and drained it.

Liara wanted to ask more about her employers, but figured she'd done enough digging for now. At least they had cleared the air between them. She realized with some bemusement that her own glass was empty too. When did that happen?

Persephone refilled their glasses before Liara could beg off. Oh well, now that her glass was full again it would be a shame to waste good liquor.

"So how are you findin' the brokering?" asked Persephone. "That's a bit of a change from archeology."

Liara shrugged. "There's lots of tedium in both professions. A lot of digging through a mountain of material to get at the few little bits that mean something."

"Probably nice and boring, too. I heard all about the excitement you got into with wossname...Shepard."

"At the time, I didn't find it exciting. More like terrifying."

"I know the feeling. But one does kinda miss those times after they're gone, right?"

Liara nodded sheepishly.

Persephone looked down at her glass. "She loved you, you know. Benezia was distant a lot of the time. But she was that way with everybody."

"I know." Liara reached across again and gripped the smaller asari's hand. "She told me that she loved me, right before the end. My mother was so strong...she fought it. She fought a Reaper's hold on her mind, just to tell me how proud she was of me."

The smaller asari gave a nod. "She was a tough old broad, as the humans say."

"She called me Little Wing one last time." Liara felt tears start in her eyes. "But she wasn't strong enough. She attacked us, and we had to kill her."

Persephone squeezed Liara's hand back and peered closely at her. Liara realized that the little asari was a lot drunker than she'd let on. "You did what you could. Yer a good kid, Liara. I miss tellin' you all about my adventures. An' I'm glad you don't hate me."

The broker smiled through her tears. "I could never hate you, M...Persephone."

Persephone sniffed. "All right, enough of this weepy stuff. It's ten in the morning an' I'm lit. Let's see if you remember that turian drinking song I taught you..."

* * *

John was going to wait about ten more minutes before hitting the panic button. After they'd split up, he'd gotten a single message from Persephone telling him that she was fine, and that she'd contact him again in three hours.

That had been three hours ago. Right now, he was the only one in the _Helen_. The rest of the crew was taking the opportunity to stretch their legs. But they'd been told not to get too far, just in case Persephone ran into trouble. He rechecked everyone's position. If he called them now, they could assemble a strike team within twenty minutes...

His planning was cut short by movement outside the _Helen's_ cockpit windows. Three figures made their way along the gangway towards the ship. An asari in a blue dress walked behind a pair of black-and-white figures that swayed in an obviously drunken manner. As they got closer, he realized the trailing asari was Nyxeris. Persephone and Liara leaned on each other as they lurched towards the airlock.

He jogged back to the mess room and climbed the ladder into the main airlock. This was probably not a true problem, but he wanted to be ready just in case. He cracked open the outer airlock door and peered out, his pistol ready in his hand.

Persephone and Liara drew up next to the door. "Heya, Edward," said Persephone. She winked at him. "Sorry I'm late. Lost track of time." She turned to Liara, who smiled fondly at her. "Thanks fer the drinks. I'm gonna go in and see if I can get him to fuck my brains out."

Liara laughed. "Good luck with that." She looked over at John and nodded. "Mr. Hadlock." She turned away and walked off beside Nyxeris. It was clear that the assistant was keeping Liara upright while they strode off.

Persephone wandered up to the outer airlock door. "Ya gonna let me in?"

John raised an eyebrow. "I don't know. Is my virtue in jeopardy?"

"Oh _hell_ yes."

He shrugged and opened the door fully. She all but spilled into the airlock and then shut the door firmly behind her.

"Damn kids," she muttered. "Got that high metabolishm working for them. I shoulda been able to drink her unner the table." She laughed. "But I did pretty good, all told."

John crossed his arms. "I sense there is something you're not telling me, Persephone."

"Yer a clever one, ain't ya?" She grinned and slid down the ladder.

He sighed and followed. Persephone was in the middle of rummaging through the storage lockers set into the mess room's wall. "First I need some food in me, I think. Ah!" She pulled out a pouch and set it in the wall-mounted oven to heat. She flopped bonelessly into a chair, and patted the one next to her. "Have a seat."

John resisted the urge to roll his eyes as he sat. "I'm not going to get too upset with you, but I was getting ready to sound the alarm."

She grinned at him. Her eyes were slightly unfocused. "Aww. It's sweet to know you care. Where is everybody?"

"It's a beautiful day. They're all taking advantage of it."

"Even your little buddy?"

"Errol's with Gabby and Camicia. He seems to have really taken a shine to Gabby."

"I hope you're not jealous," replied Persephone in an arch tone. The oven 'dinged' and she rose to retrieve her food. As she walked back to the table, she suddenly veered and settled herself in John's lap.

He resisted the urge to start in surprise. Persephone's eyes were just level with his, and her violet gaze stared in challenge at him as she began eating. She seemed to weigh nothing in his lap. This close to her, he could smell that pleasant floral scent again. Although right now that scent was overlaid with a healthy dose of alcohol vapor.

"Er, how much did you drink?" asked John. It was a struggle to keep his hands by his sides. He felt an overwhelming urge to reach up and caress her.

"Enough," she replied. "Enough to clear the air."

John thought for a bit. There was clearly some past between Liara and Persephone, but as long as it didn't cause problems he figured it was none of his business. "Good."

She chewed a mouthful of food and looked thoughtfully at him. "Just good? You're not going to ask about me and Liara?"

He gave a grim smile. "Given my past, I know the value of not digging too deep into other people's history."

"I can understand that." She swallowed the last mouthful of food and tossed the pouch and fork onto the table. Then she seemed to flow in his lap like liquid, and John suddenly felt her press more firmly against him. She now straddled him, and her face was inches from his. "So we've got the ship to ourselves. You wanna fool around?"

His hands seemed to move by themselves as they settled on her hips. Persephone purred and ground against him. "I guess you do," she said.

John shook his head. "Come on, Persephone. Not like this. You're drunk off your tits. Um, that's assuming you have tits..."

In response she rubbed her chest against his. His breath caught as he felt the diamond-hard nubs of her nipples through the layers of clothing that separated them. "You feel those?" she asked.

He could barely speak. "Oh, yeah."

Persephone pressed her forehead against his. "Yes, John, I'm drunk. And I know you want to be the chivalrous hero. But that isn't you. Just like I'm not the pure virtuous maiden. We're both dirty, right down to our boots. So let's be dirty."

His hands roved higher, stroking up along her back. The feel of wiry muscle under her catsuit made his resolve crumble. "I just don't want to take advantage of you."

She brought her lips very close to his, separated by the barest millimeter. He could feel them brushing against his lips as she spoke. "I'm the one taking advantage here. I need someone to screw me and hold me close and make the world go away for a while."

He moved his lips forward that barest millimeter and kissed her.

Her mouth opened hungrily under his and her arms wrapped around his neck. John's reluctance was now swept away by the desire to explore her, to claim her. He moved a hand up and stroked the tendrils that swept off of her head. They were firmer than he expected, and the touch made Persephone moan into his mouth. He took that as a good sign and kept exploring with fingers and tongue. Her teeth were a little like a human's, mostly flat but with sharp canines in unexpected locations. Her tongue wrestled with his as he caressed her scalp. Persephone's hands moved back between them and began unbuttoning John's shirt. He slid his hands back down and gripped her rear, then reluctantly pulled his mouth away.

"How do I get this thing off of you?" he murmured.

She chuckled as she continued to unbutton him. "It's a one-piece. It pulls off." The asari slid her hands under his shirt, and the feel of her touching his bare skin made his head swim. She slowly stroked her palms against his flesh.

"Bed or table?" he growled. If she kept touching him like that, it was going to be table no matter what she said.

She leaned down and planted a kiss on his exposed chest. "Bed, please."

John stood as Persephone wrapped her legs and arms around him. Somehow he was able to stumble through the ship and reach his cabin. It didn't help that she was pulling his clothes off the whole time.

* * *

Gabby slid down the ladder, followed by Errol. The varren was actually pretty adept at picking his way down a ladder, although he did keep looking back down at Gabby to make sure she was still there. Ever since their little dust-up in Engineering, the varren seemed to have designated himself as her protector.

Camicia followed the pair down. "I'm guessing Little Miss Not-A-Commando got back all right," she said.

Gabby looked around the mess. "I hope so, we didn't hear anything. Hmm. Somebody was a little messy." She picked up an empty food pouch from the table and tossed it in the recycler. "I thought John would be here. Maybe he's taking a nap?"

Camica gave a honking laugh. "I don't think so." She pointed at John's suit jacket, which lay crumpled on the floor next to the door to Engineering.

Gabby looked at it in puzzlement. "I don't get it. He's usually a lot neater than that...oh."

The turian sighed. "I guess we should go check, just to make sure they didn't hit their heads on a stanchion or something."

There was a trail of discarded clothing that stretched through Engineering and along the rear corridor of the _Helen_. The pair collected it all as they went. And, sure enough, John's cabin door was firmly closed. The pair stopped a couple of meters away. The soundproofing wasn't perfect; there were definite moans of passion that could be faintly heard through the door.

Errol peered around Gabby's leg with a curious expression. "Wirfl?"

"About damn time," muttered Gabby. She plonked the gathered pile of clothing down on the deck near the door. "Right, they're both accounted for and seem to be just fine. Now let's head back..."

"I'll give you a hundred credits if you go knock on that door," said Camica with an evil glint in her eye.

"Are you kidding, bird-brain? I wouldn't do it for a million."

"How about a billion? Hypothetically speaking, of course."

"I like having all of my blood _inside_ my body, thank you very much. Let's go."

* * *

John stroked Persephone's hip as she spooned against him. That had been interesting, to say the least. It almost reminded him of the first time he'd had sex, the fumbling exploration of an unfamiliar landscape. Persephone's body was a wonderful mixture of the familiar and the strange. She had been very patient in guiding him as he explored her with curious fingers and tongue. She was a mammal, as demonstrated by her glorious little breasts, and thus she had a birthing canal like a human female. But the erogenous zones down there were completely different. His exploration was rewarded as she shook against his face in orgasm.

For her part, the asari had clearly been 'around' human males before. She'd known exactly how to pleasure him, and had smiled with delight as he cried out. She kissed him deep as he climaxed in turn.

Now she stretched against him like a cat, and he stroked up along her front to cup her breast. He kissed the top of her head. "Are you ready for seconds?" he asked.

Persephone hummed with happiness at his touch. "You bet I am. Do you...do you want to try for more?"

"You mean Joining?" So far she'd kept the festivities purely physical, and it had already been amazing.

She turned over and snuggled against him as he held her. "I understand if you don't want to. You know, given what happened on Carcosa."

He squeezed her gently. "If it's you doing it, that makes all the difference. I'd be game for trying it out."

"Really?" She turned her head to look up at him. "You're not just saying that to make me happy?"

He smiled down at her. "Well, I guess you'll have to read my mind and find out."

She snickered. "It doesn't work quite like that. We'll go slowly, and start with the basic level only."

"What's that?"

Persephone pushed him over onto his back and straddled him. "I'll show you," she replied in a low voice. She rubbed her nethers against him as she traced her hands over his chest. His own hands reached up and gently massaged her firm, perky tits. It wasn't long before he was hard again. The asari reached down and guided him into her core. They both gasped as she impaled herself. Persephone let out a low chuckle. "Now, then," she said. She leaned over and took John's face in her hands. Her eyes began to dilate, wider and wider. As the black filled her violet gaze John had a brief moment of panic. This was too much like Batara...

But there was no buzzing this time, only a gentle warmth that seemed to embrace his mind the same way she physically embraced his member. His panic quieted, and he suddenly realized he could feel, second-hand, the tingle from her breasts as he manipulated them.

"Embrace eternity," she whispered, and then things got really freaky.

Wonderfully freaky.

* * *

John found his hastily-discarded clothing now gathered in a pile outside of his cabin door. He was pretty sure he knew what that meant, and sighed internally. Hopefully the rest of the crew would be okay with this development. He brought it back into the cabin and smiled at the sight of the naked asari still stretched out on his bed.

She smiled back and rolled over, presenting her derriere to him.

"Are you trying for fifths?" he asked.

Persephone threw him a cocky grin over one shoulder. "Maybe." She looked at the pile of clothing in his hands. "Ah. I guess our fling has been discovered?"

He shrugged and placed the pile in a hamper. "I guess so." He paused. "Was it just a fling?"

Her face clouded a bit. "Poor choice of words, I guess. It wasn't the booze that made me jump you, if that's what you're thinking."

He sat on the bed next to her and smiled. "I'm glad for that. I'd hate to get a reputation as a slut." He traced a hand gently along her bare back.

Persephone purred. "Mmmm. Keep that up and I will insist on fifths. So I guess we're...together?"

John leaned over and kissed her forehead. "That's okay with you, right? I don't see how the crew would mind."

She rolled back over. "I'm good with it and then some. Cammy's going to be making all sorts of snarky comments, but she does that anyway."

John stood and pulled out one of the wall-mounted drawers, then began to dress himself. This time he was going casual, just sweatpants and a tee shirt.

"Do you mind if I borrow some clothes?" asked Persephone. "It seems someone went and ripped my catsuit."

He felt a little pang of alarm. "I did? I don't remember that. Did I hurt you?"

Persephone laughed. "I'm fine. You were just a little excited, is all. It's my fault for wearing something that was hard to get off."

After a little more rummaging, John handed her another pair of sweatpants and a shirt. Both were comically large on Persephone, and she wound up rolling up the legs of the sweatpants.

"There," she said when she was done. "We look like twins, you know."

"I know. Shall we go face the music?" he asked with a smile.

"You know, half the time I have no idea what you humans are talking about. What music?"

They trouped back towards the mess, and stopped dead just inside the door. Sure enough, the rest of the crew were there. Errol sat up and gave a fanged smile when he saw John, but the rest of the crew sat at the table with crossed arms and stony faces. On Bast, the expression looked natural. But now even Mackie looked unimpressed.

"Um, hi," said Persphone uncertainly. "What's wrong?"

John also felt a little unease. Had he misjudged the crew's reaction that much?

Mackie slowly brought a little paper tube up to his lips and blew. The noisemaker unfurled and gave a loud squeaking buzz, and then everyone stood. The crew yelled and threw their hands forward in unison, and the air was filled with confetti that slowly drifted down over the confused pair in the doorway.


	17. Retaliation

Liara knew that the rat-faced human in the gray suit was trouble the moment she set eyes on him. And then, after her initial sighting, he kept showing up. He'd been conspicuously present in several areas during the last week. She had not yet caught him looking at her, but he was always in a position where he could keep an eye on her. The next time she saw him, she was planning to confront him.

But then he showed up at her office. Nyxeris was a little hesitant as she told Liara the news. "I know he doesn't have an appointment, but he's very insistent. He gave me this."

The adjutant handed a small pin to Liara. The pin bore a hexagonal, orange-and-black logo that the broker recognized immediately.

Liara sighed. "Send him in, please." She rose from her desk as Nyxeris ushered in the rat-faced man who'd been shadowing her. She kept her expression neutral as she shook hands.

"Dr. T'Soni? I'm Harper, pleased to meet you. Thank you for seeing me."

Liara nodded at Nyxeris, who closed the door. She gave a fake smile to the man. "I have to admit, I'm a little surprised to see you. Please, have a seat."

They sat. "Why are you surprised?" asked Harper.

"I made it clear to Cerberus that our transaction was a one-time-only affair."

Harper smiled. "Perhaps we simply wish to hire your services. You deal with a lot of different people. Why not us?"

She considered her words before replying. "As a broker, I have to appear neutral to all parties. Your organization has, shall we say, created quite a bit of antagonism. If I were to perform work for you, I would have to carefully judge the damage it might do to my reputation if news of it leaked."

The gray man chuckled. "Not to mention, we sometimes have a reputation for broken promises."

Liara shrugged. "I wasn't going be be so rude as to mention it, but yes. That is a concern as well."

Harper produced an OSD and slid it across Liara's desk towards her. "Watch that, and tell me if we break promises."

Liara felt her heart beat a little faster as she picked up the disc. If it was what she thought it was...

Harper smiled wider and gestured. "Please, go ahead. I'll wait."

The OSD contained a single vid. It showed a man in bulky gray armor standing in a holographic cage. She gripped the edge of the desk as she looked in the man's face. There was a fine array of scars crisscrossing the man's face, and she could make out the glow of cybernetic tissue within those scars.

The face behind those scars was she saw in her dreams. It was one of the few pleasant things in those dreams. A face with square and strong features, short brown hair, and blue-gray eyes that she knew could be warm or flint-hard.

Right now, his eyes were hard. "Let's make one thing clear," he said to whomever was connected to the cage. "I'm not working with you. I'm using your resources to solve the Collector threat. You can suggest how I perform my mission and feed me whatever intel you have, but I alone will dictate my actions. Is that clear?"

"Quite clear, Shepard," replied a whiskey-polished voice. "We have several dossiers of potential team members compiled for you ."

"You can keep your dossiers," snapped Shepard. "I already had a team."

"Most of them have moved on," replied the voice. "It has been two years, after all."

The hard look in Shepard's eyes faltered. "You don't have to remind me."

"And you are still recuperating," said the voice smoothly. "So just read over the dossiers. Get your feet under you, and get a feel for your ship." The voice chuckled. "I already know that you'll agree with my choice of pilot."

The cage faded, and another familiar voice sounded from offscreen. This one was higher-pitched and jovial. "Hey, Commander. You're looking pretty good for a zombie. Although if you start gnawing on my head, I'm gonna ask the Alliance for my old job back."

Shepard's face went slack with shock, and then he turned. The Commander's face lit up in the smile that Liara remembered so well. "Joker! You son of a bitch!"

The video ended.

Liara looked up impassively at Harper. "How long ago?"

"A little over six weeks ago," replied Harper. "He's already on the move. Even The Illusive Man is impressed with his speed, and he doesn't impress easy."

She tapped her fingers on the table. "As much as I appreciate the update, I assume you have an ulterior motive for showing me this. And for following me around this past week."

Harper gave a one-arm shrug. "We had, as you said, considered our interaction to be one time only. But we still kept tabs on you. As long as your work did not interfere with ours, we were content to simply observe."

"You said 'were'," said Liara. She felt a little tingle of unease in her gut. She was pretty sure where this was going.

The Cerberus man nodded. "You have been telling tales out of school, Dr. T'Soni. We know that you met with members of the Organization, and that you revealed your prior deal with us. Including the reason behind Project Lazarus."

Liara kept her face very still, but inside she wanted to smash the man into the ground with a biotic field. She continually swept her office for listening devices, but Cerberus must have gotten a few in here despite her caution.

When she did not reply, Harper smiled gently. "We're not angry, Dr. T'Soni. As you said, you are a neutral party. And you didn't reveal anything damaging. Shepard's return is becoming public knowledge, after all. Since you have a contract with the Organization, go ahead and fulfill it." He leaned forward, and suddenly he was no longer smiling. "But make no mistake. We are watching both you and them. And if you try to warn them of our surveillance, we _will_ know. And in that case we will become...less friendly."

Liara still didn't reply. He raised an eyebrow. "Are we clear?" he asked.

Liara nodded.

Harper smiled. "I'll show myself out. Have a good day, Dr. T'Soni. And keep that OSD. Consider it a reminder of what we've done for you."

She leaned back in her chair after he'd left. Her initial rage was fading, to be replaced by the cold analytical part of herself that she'd come to rely on during her years as an information broker.

The one cardinal sin of spycraft was to reveal to an opponent that you had an inside source of information. It invariably led to that opponent altering their methods. Codes were changed, employees were scrutinized more carefully, and bug sweeps became more stringent. Revealing inside info was a good way to lose the very channel used to get that info.

And yet this 'Harper' had done just that. Liara's initial instinct had been to surreptitiously warn Persephone that Cerberus was watching them. Off the top of her head she knew of at least three different ways that she could send a warning without tipping off Cerberus. Her past with Persephone made it easy.

So perhaps warning them was what Cerberus _wanted_ her to do. If she warned Persephone, then 'Hadlock's' team would go into high alert. And then what? Then they'd stick together to watch each other and...ah, she saw now what Cerberus had planned.

Liara stood and walked out into the reception area. "Did we hear back from Number Nine?" she asked.

Nyxeris nodded. "They've made contact. We're now able to communicate with this 'Ghost' person."

"Good. Come into my office. We have some messages to write and send."

* * *

Even though the _Helen_ was planetside, they still needed to keep a watch. Right now it was Mackie's turn. He slouched in the first officer's seat in the cockpit as he flicked with bored eyes through the various external views. So far it didn't seem like anybody was massing an army to attack their ship. Actually, it seemed like everybody was somewhere else. He couldn't see anybody around.

Then he finally saw somebody walking up the causeway. It was an asari - no big surprise, since Illium was an asari colony - and she was wearing some kind of green uniform and had a satchel over one shoulder. As she began walking up the gangway to the ship, Mackie got on the general intercom.

"We've got a visitor, folks. One asari, looks like a courier."

"Got it," replied John. "Take your places, everyone."

* * *

John and Persephone were the ones to go up into the airlock and talk to the courier. After the 'all clear' was sent, everyone gathered in the mess. John held a large envelope

"An actual physical message?" asked Mackie. "That seems overly cautious."

Nathan shrugged. "It may be a condition set by our 'Ghost' friend."

John had slit open the envelope in the meantime and read through the note inside. He nodded and set it on the table. "It's on," he said. "We have a meeting place and time as well as names to exchange with each other. Whoever does the meet needs to be alone, although the 'Ghost' will accept us having one other person nearby for security."

Bast leaned over and read the note. "Revassly Plaza? I guess it shouldn't be surprising that it's a public area."

Nathan had already turned to the terminal and called up images of the plaza. Mackie and Bast leaned over his shoulders to look as well.

"I don't like the number of buildings around," said Bast. "This is going to be a nightmare to keep secure."

"It's got a lot of exit points as well," said Nathan. "That must be why our 'Ghost' insisted on it."

John held up a hand. "Remember, we're not trying to capture her. Ideally we get the information we need and get out of here. If only one person is to meet her...Nathan, I think we need you to do the face-to-face."

The analyst nodded. "And we will need to proceed cautiously. Right now, I'm assuming this person is a professional rival of Okuda's. But what if she can put us in touch with him directly? Should we take the opportunity?"

John considered what would follow. If they actually met with Okuda, then what? The thief certainly wasn't going to turn himself in. And the knowledge in Okuda's head was dangerous; even if he swore himself to silence there was no guarantee that the information would stay safe. No, if they crossed paths with Okuda they would have to kill him. It was the math he should have applied on Carcosa. One life in exchange for thousands, perhaps hundreds of thousands. He wouldn't make that mistake again. "Yes, we should try for contact," he said aloud.

Persephone picked up the note. "So we're to ask if she's Little Wing, and she's supposed to ask if we're Terius Aberion." Her eyes were puzzled. "Little Wing?"

Camicia perked up at the last name. "Terius Aberion?"

John had joined the little gaggle of people around Nathan looking at plaza schematics, but now he turned around to fix both of them with a dark-eyed stare. "What is it?"

Persephone set the note back down "Little Wing is a name with personal meaning to Liara. It's an unusual choice."

The entire crew now knew that there was some sort of past between Persephone and Liara, but that was all they knew. Even John wasn't in the loop; the Joining he'd done with Persephone hadn't gone into her memories. John's eyes narrowed. If this was going to impact the mission, then he'd have to start digging. "Could it be a message to us?"

The asari nodded. "It has to be. She wouldn't use that name lightly. I can't imagine what it means. The only thing that comes to mind is that it was a name said to her just before her mot...before she was attacked and had to defend herself."

"All right, so Liara is warning us of a possible attack, perhaps by this 'Ghost'." John turned to Camicia. "What about the second name? You seemed to recognize it."

The turian tapped a talon on her chin as she thought. "Yes, but only because it's from a famous turian drama. Terius is the villian of the story."

Mackie looked back at the turian. "So Liara is saying we're the bad guys? That makes no sense."

"Indeed not," said Nathan. "I think it might be more of a warning, as was the 'Little Wing' mention. What happened to Terius in the story?"

"He was killed in battle," said Camicia. "Terius had a fortification that was famed for its strength. The hero of the story is a clever turian named Postucus. He made it look like his army was massing outside of Terius' fort, at a location that would give Terius the advantage. Terius took the bait and rode out with his army to crush Postucus. But the supposed army was only a few small divisions. Postucus snuck the rest of his army into the fort behind Terius and captured it, then came back out and destroyed Terius' army."

John thumped a fist softly on the table. "Got it. There's going to be an attack on us when we meet the 'Ghost'. The people behind the attack want us to know about it, so that we'll send almost everyone there to protect Nathan at the plaza. And then they come and capture or destroy the _Helen_ while there's only one or two people on board. Even if we evade the attack in the plaza, anybody left will be stuck on the planet with no easy way to get off. They could be picked off at leisure."

"If that's the plan, then who's 'they'?" asked Bast. "Oh. Of course. Cerberus."

Gabby snorted. "I guess it was too much to hope we'd seen the last of them."

"Fat chance," replied Mackie. "They're like cockroaches. So what's the next step, then? Do we call off the meeting?"

"This is our only lead to Okuda," said Nathan. "We have to go through with it." He looked again at the plaza schematic. "It's going to be difficult to manage, though. If we send too few people to the meeting, then Cerberus' attack at the plaza has a chance of success. And if Camica takes the _Helen_ off-planet, it will be difficult to get a quick extraction if we need one."

"And if we try to change the meeting location, our 'Ghost' won't go for that," added Persephone.

"Can you get schematics of the plaza infrastructure?" asked John. "Things like storm drains and such?"

Mackie groaned. "Dude, do you have a thing for crawling through sewers?"

Camicia crossed her arms. "Just in case I have to drive any of you from the plaza, let's get one thing clear. I put up with that nonsense _once_. If you get all slimed up this time, you're walking."

"Duly noted," said John. "So, we need to have a productive meeting with the 'Ghost', repel a possible Cerberus attack on that meeting, and also keep them from destroying or capturing our ride." He checked the note again. "We have six hours before we need to head to the meeting. We also have some really clever and devious bastards around this table. Let's see what we can come up with in that time."

* * *

Nathan shrugged a little and felt the shield generator dig into his back. It was strapped directly to his skin under his shirt. The generator was hooked to a radar system that should, in theory, activate if it detected an incoming bullet. The setup would probably stop a few sniper rounds, but that was all.

He walked into the plaza. It had multiple tiers, and was composed of white concrete with dark red tiles placed here and there in an abstract pattern. Around him rose several huge skyscrapers that pointed into the blue sky. He really didn't like that last part. There were way too many places for snipers to hide.

The note said to walk to the center of the plaza and remove his jacket. It was now midday, and the plaza was about half-full of pedestrian traffic. Nathan made his way through the semi-throng and reached the center. He carefully shrugged out of his jacket and stashed it under his arm.

It couldn't have been more than two minutes, but it seemed like an eternity before he heard a quiet contralto voice at his elbow.

"Are you Terius Aberion?"

Nathan turned, and saw nobody. He looked around with a little befuddled air. "Um, hello?"

"Yes or no?" The voice was now at his other elbow. Nathan knew without looking that it came from thin air.

"Yes," he said. "Are you Little Wing?"

"I am. You should turn on your omni-tool and appear to be taking a call, otherwise you're going to look like a fool talking to thin air."

Nathan did so. "I now understand how you got your name."

"You mean 'Ghost'? I'm not the one who started that." The voice's location shifted in space as the invisible woman moved around him. "Is there anyone else with you?"

"Just one, as you requested. A man with a black beard and black suit near the plaza entrance. He's just here to make sure I'm safe."

"Yes, I thought he might be with you. Before you ask, I'm here by myself." The low but feminine voice took on a slightly bitter tone. "I tend to work better alone. What do you want?"

"Before I get to that, I need to warn you. We suspect there may be an attack on us in the next few minutes."

"You suspect?"

"It might be nothing. A naming coincidence. But just in case that happens, is there a way to contact you directly?" This was the moment where Nathan half expected his mysterious questioner to simply leave.

"Perhaps," she replied. "That depends on what you want."

"I'm looking for Keiji Okuda. Do you know him?"

There was a very long pause. "I do. Why do you need to find him?"

"I just need to meet him," replied Nathan. "It's safer if you don't know why."

The voice was now behind him. "And what will you do if you meet him? Do you have a job?"

Nathan decided a little honesty would help. "No. He has information that I need."

"Information that he stole, you mean."

"Yes."

"From you?"

"I can't say."

The invisible thief gave a snort. "You don't need to. I knew you smelled of the Alliance."

"I'm not Alliance. Not exactly."

"What does that mean?" The voice was now on edge. She was clearly ready to simply vanish.

Nathan felt a little bead of sweat run down his forehead as he thought very fast. Something was off about this. This 'Ghost' character knew that Nathan was seeking Alliance secrets. But Okuda's dual identity as 'Rumoi' was something that the thief had kept very private. There was no way that this person would know about it. Unless...

"I think I understand now," he said. "You and Okuda are friends."

"Something like that."

They were probably lovers, then. Nathan chose his next words very carefully. "I'm not with the Alliance anymore. I have something to prove it, but it means that I need to reach into my shirt pocket. Is that all right?"

"Just so you know, I can drop you before you can blink," said the voice.

"I believe you." Nathan very carefully reached into the front pocket of his shirt and retrieved a gold coin. He held it in front of him. "This is for you."

He felt the coin being plucked from his fingers as it vanished.

The invisible woman sounded a little mollified, but still suspicious. "I see. What is their interest in this matter? They wouldn't work for the Alliance."

"Their management is human, though. One particular bit of information that Okuda has could be very damaging to humanity. They want to make sure it doesn't get out."

"And how would you accomplish that?"

Nathan felt more sweat appear. He'd expected her to be happy to take out a rival thief, or at worst be neutral about killing Okuda. This was going to take some very fancy talking. "There's the obvious way but let's take that right off the table, shall we?. We're open to suggestions. Perhaps we can arrange a meeting with all three of us and hash out a solution. Keiji is a reasonable man."

There was another long pause. Nathan was almost sure she'd simply vanished, but then she spoke again.

"There will be no meeting. Keiji is dead."

Nathan sagged. It was a strange that he felt regret, given that he'd been chasing after Okuda for so long. "I'm honestly sorry to hear that." He took another deep breath. "Forgive me for being uncouth, but I have to ask...is his graybox secure?" Nathan knew the device was encoded, so it wouldn't be possible to simply 'read' the information off of it. But given enough time, someone might be able to crack it.

"No, it's very much unsecure," she replied. "If you want to protect the information on it that badly, then perhaps I can use you."

"Me?"

"Well, not you specifically. I need the Organization and their considerable resources. Where that graybox is, I'm going to need every-"

There was a spark in the air, right in front of Nathan's face. It was followed by the crack of a rifle. Nathan was already running by the time the crack was heard. He saw more rounds smack into the concrete on either side of him as he tried to run in an unpredictable zigzag. His heart pounded as he saw armored figures run towards him. They were clearly trying to cut him off from John and the others.

* * *

"Movement," said Camicia. The turian was jammed into the not-quite-big-enough area below the main console in the cockpit of the *Helen*. She had her omni-tool open and was flicking through the various exterior cameras. "Five men only. On foot, no sign of backup."

"It sounds like they're trying to capture the ship, not destroy it," said Bast's voice. "Plan B, then?"

Camicia groaned. "I guess so." She hated Plan B. The turian unfolded herself from under the console, seated herself in the chair, and tried to look busy. "Gabby, are you sure you'll be all right?"

"I'll be fine, don't worry," replied the engineer's voice.

"And I'll be fine too, thanks for asking," added Bast. But her tone was cheerful. The operative actually sounded excited. Camicia shook her head a little. Some people thrived in dangerous situations, but the turian was not one of them. She'd done her time in the military and that was excitement enough for one life, _thank_ you very much.

And yet here she was, getting ready to have a gun pointed at her. Again.

The men were pretty stealthy, she had to give them that. Even with a turian's senses, she could barely hear them pick the electronic lock on the _Helen's_ outer door. And they were pretty good at coming down a ladder without making too much racket. Considering they were probably wearing armor, she was impressed. Sort of.

"Freeze," said a soft voice behind her. "Hands up, no sudden movement or yelling. Stand up and turn around."

Camicia did so. Two men stared back at her. They wore armor with the sunburst 'E' of Eclipse. Behind them she could see three more men outside the cockpit door. The two in front had pistols trained on her. She noted that they were just outside of easy grabbing distance, which was a pity.

"How many others on board?" asked one of the men in front.

Camicia didn't reply.

"We're not here to kill you," continued the man. "We're just grabbing the boat. But if you don't cooperate I will put a bullet in your eye."

"There's one other on board," said Camicia.

"Where?" When she didn't reply, he raised the pistol and sighted on her eye.

"Engineering," she said.

The man nodded. "Good girl." He pointed to the one of the side stations. "Sit there. Keep the chair facing me, and keep your hands on your head."

Camicia moved slowly as she complied. The man made a few hand gestures, and the four others moved aft while the leader kept his gun pointed at her.

* * *

Gabby was putting some tools away when she felt the cold touch of what could only be a gun muzzle on the back of her head. "Don't move, sister."

"Are we related?" she asked.

There was a low chuckle from behind her. "Figure of speech. Now, I'm going to back up a bit and you're going to turn around very slowly."

The cold touch went away, and she slowly turned to regard the four armored men in front of her.

"Is there anyone else on board?" asked the one in front. He had a pretty amazing scar across one cheek. Some men look better with scars. This man was not one of them.

"And why should I tell you?" asked Gabby.

"Because if you don't, then I'll shoot out your knee. If you keep being stubborn, I'll shoot out the other one. But we're not here to hurt you. We just want the ship."

Gabby knew that was a complete lie. Cerberus had probably paid this group to grab the ship and fly it to a Cerberus facility. Once there, she'd probably be tortured for information or just used as raw material in one of their twisted experiments.

Aloud, she said, "Just the pilot."

The man pointed at two of the other men and jerked his thumb aft. The chosen pair moved carefully out of Engineering while the scarred man pointed at the floor. "Have a seat."

She sat cross-legged.

The scarred man smiled. It was not a friendly smile. "We should get cozy, I guess. It'll be a while."

The other man smirked and kept a pistol trained on Gabby while the scarred man holstered his weapon and took off his gauntlets.

Gabby was pretty sure 'cozy' was another word for 'rape'. Thugs were always thugs, no matter how fancy the armor.

"I thought Eclipse were supposed to be professionals," she said.

The scarred man leered at her. He began to undo his greaves while leaving his breastplate on. "We are. In lots of things, not just fighting. I'm gonna show you _such_ a good time. And this is gonna happen whether you want it or not, so you might as well enjoy it. You're a sweet little thing, and I'd hate to damage such a pretty face."

Gabby shook her head. "I won't let you touch me."

The scarred man laughed and tossed aside his greaves. His partner also gave a high honking laugh.

"You don't have much of a choice, sweet thing," he said. He hooked his thumbs in his pants, clearly getting ready to take them off. "There's two of us, we're bigger than you, and you don't even have a gun."

Gabby smiled. "I don't need a gun. I've got an Errol."

Her would-be rapist looked puzzled. "Errol?"

The engineer raised one hand and snapped her fingers.

A large gray-and-purple blur hit the scarred man's partner, smashing him to the deck as his pistol spun away. As the scarred man spun around in panic, Errol clamped his mouth around the partner's arm and gave a great heave of his massive shoulders.

The partner's armored form flew through the air and crashed into the scarred man. The two mercs went tumbling in a heap as Gabby rolled out of the way.

Errol was suddenly beside her, his goggle eyes peering at her with concern. "Wirfl?"

"I'm fine, buddy." She patted his scaly flank, then pointed at the two groaning men. "Go have fun."

Errol's fanged mouth gaped wide, mirroring Gabby's own evil grin. "Wirfl!"

She stood and strolled back out of blood-spatter range as Errol got to work. The scarred man managed to get his pistol free of his holster, only to lose that hand for his trouble. There was more crunching and screaming, mixed in with the gutteral roars of a pissed-off varren.

Gabby hunted around and found the pistol that the partner had dropped. "Honestly, I don't know what you're yelling about," she said to the thrashing and screaming men while they tried to fight off Errol's fangs and claws. "He's just a big old softy."

* * *

As the faint roars reached the cockpit, the leader snapped his head around. He still had one eye on Camicia, however, and she made sure to keep still and seated.

"What the fuck?" he snarled, and touched his ear. "Everyone! Sound off!"

There was no response on his comm. The leader narrowed his eyes at Camicia and gripped his pistol tighter. "Stand up. We're heading aft. You stay in front." He called down towards the wardroom. "If anyone's hiding in there, I'll kill your pilot!"

He turned back and motioned her to get up. Camica made sure to move slowly as she got up. Too slowly for his liking, apparently, because he grabbed her shoulder in preparation for shoving her in front of him.

She smoothly flowed around the grab and shoved his gun-hand to one side. He barely had time to yell before she punched with her other hand at his throat. There was a sickening crunch that sounded very loud in the small cockpit, and the man's yell turned into a faint gagging noise. Camica stripped the pistol from his hand as he fell twitching to the deck. His face turned purple as he struggled to breathe through a crushed larynx.

The turian was glad she'd managed to not spill any blood. It was always such a pain in the nethers to clean up. She waited until the man stopped twitching, checked his pulse to make sure he was dead, then trotted aft to check on the others.

Bast and Gabby were in Engineering, where Errol sat with a happy and gory smile on top of a pair of bodies who were really-very-completely-oh-spirits-is-that-a-spleen-dead. Whatever blood Camicia had managed to avoid spilling, Errol had made up for in spades.

The turian noted that one of the mercs had taken off their greaves. "Really?" Camicia said aloud. "They hadn't even finished sweeping the ship and one of 'em tried to rape you?"

Gabby shrugged. "Well, he was pretty ugly. He'd probably been without for a long time." The engineer crossed her arms and grinned at Errol. "Fortunately my backup had an excellent hiding spot. Good boy, Errol."

"Wirfl!"

Camica sighed as she looked over the carnage. "That is going to be such a hassle to clean." She looked over at Bast. "How about you?"

The operative smiled and stepped aside. There was a merc behind her with wide, fearful eyes. And only his eyes and nose were visible; the rest was bound in a gray cocoon of duct tape. "Broke one neck, got one alive. Thanks for the tape, Gabby."

"Don't mention it."

"I figure we can interview him later," said Bast. The merc's eyes got even wider as the operative gave him a very steady look.

Camicia's comm crackled. "Cammy?" asked John's voice.

"Here, boss. We got attacked, went to Plan B, no casualties for us."

"Good. Get the _Helen_ moving. We've had a casualty here."


	18. Destruction

Kasumi Goto moved away from the ladder and looked around at the pale concrete tube of the storm drain. There was nobody in sight. She cursed silently. Whoever had interrupted that meeting had cost her dearly. After many months, she might actually have an ally with the resources to help her make a run at Donovan Hock's compound.

But it might not be a total loss, she mused. After all, Nos Astra had a Continental hotel. It should be possible to re-contact the Organization man she'd been talking with. Provided she could get into the Continental, of course.

She flickered back into existence to check her omni-tool. Part of the problem with being effectively invisible to others was that you were also invisible to yourself. Kasumi scrolled through a map of the drains and set in her mind the path to the exit point nearest the Nos Astra Continental.

Once ready, she re-cloaked and moved away. Fortunately there hadn't been much rain recently, so the storm drain only had a sluggish trickle of water in its bottom center. If it had been more flooded, she would have had to choose a different exit strategy. It did no good to be invisible yet splashing through water.

Kasumi thought back on her talk with the Organization representative. She needed his resources, but she was also leery of his ultimate aim. It was obvious that, if they were to successfully recover Keiji's graybox, then he would want to erase it.

The thief's lips thinned in an invisible grimace. She would be dead before she let that happen. Keiji had been a revelation to her. Before their unexpected meeting, Kasumi's experiences with intimacy had been a never-ending string of one-night-stands. It was pleasant, to be sure. Especially if her conquest had a nice set of abs. But being with Keiji had made her realize just how much she'd been missing.

And now she knew true loss, because he was dead. Yes, he was a thief and a traitor to the Alliance. But he was still _hers_ and he deserved a better end than to have his skull cut open by some sadistic bastard with more money than King Midas.

Kasumi suddenly realized she could hear someone humming ahead. She peeked around the corner and saw a young man with a pretty face and short and spiky blond hair. He stood next to the ladder that led to her planned exit.

The youngster checked his omni-tool, cleared his throat, and began speaking. "Hi, I really hope that I'm not talking to thin air like some kind of a nut. I'm here just in case there was an attack and you came this way. We had an idea of about how fast you would travel, so right about now you should be reaching here. Don't worry, I'm here to help. My name's Mackie."

Kasumi's eyes narrowed as she ghosted closer. This could be a trap, set by whoever had attacked the plaza. "If you're here to help, then step back from the ladder," she whispered.

The blonde complied with a sunny smile. It was a smile that made her feel oddly at ease. Kasumi moved closer, and set a foot on a ladder rung with an audible _thunk_. Then she shuffled back silently and waited to see if he'd launch an attack the ladder.

Instead, Mackie looked up at the exit above. "Um, do you mind if I come up?" he called.

Kasumi moved behind him. "I changed my mind," she said, this time not whispering. "You go up first so I can keep an eye on you."

The young man flinched a bit, but did as she asked. At the top of the ladder was a little landing with some stairs leading up to a pair of bulkhead doors. Mackie stayed well clear of the ladder while she came up behind him; he definitely was trying to appear nonthreatening.

"Can I call my boss?" he asked.

"Not yet. I want to be inside the Continental before that. Just in case you aren't who you say you are."

"Fair enough. You want me to lead?"

"What do you think?"

"That'll be a yes, then."

Outside, it was still bright sunshine in a clear blue sky. The soaring facade of the Nos Astra Continental was only about a block away. Mackie walked confidently towards it, acting as if he didn't have an invisible woman in his wake.

* * *

There were four of the armored figures, all wearing Eclipse colors. Nathan saw one of the merc's shots spark off of his emergency shield. That was two shots stopped, and the shield unit had maybe enough energy to stop two more. He stopped his flight dead and lurched inelegantly to the right. There was a bench nearby with some large planters on either side. It wasn't great cover, but it was better than nothing.

"Surround him!" barked one of the mercs. "Where's the one in the black suit?"

The reply was panting; this merc had clearly just run up. That made five men. "No sign of 'im. He might have run off when the shooting started."

"You hear that, my man?" the first merc called towards Nathan.

Nathan said nothing. He had some idea of how fast John could move while keeping unseen. Let's see, given that speed plus the distance to the plaza's edge John should be here right about...

As if on cue there was a flurry of shots and yelling. Nathan peeked out and saw that one of the men was prone with his head twisted clean around. Another was on his stomach with John twisting his arm behind him. The operative held that arm while trading shots with the remaining three; Nathan could see shots impacting John's own shield. One of the three went down, but it was still two on one.

Two on one, that is, until a figure in a black-and-white catsuit appeared behind them and gave each of them a shot to the head. As they dropped, John gave the man whose arm he held a similar execution-style shot to the head.

Nathan was pleased that his legs weren't shaking too badly as he stood and approached John and Persephone.

"Time to move, I think," said the asari.

John just nodded.

Persephone gave Nathan a once-over. "Are you all right?"

"Just rattled a bit," he replied.

They ran out of the plaza. Nathan's adrenaline was still going strong, and he found he could keep up with his much fitter comrades for the moment. Thankfully, there was no further attacks as they ran. Their getaway aircar was stashed in a nearby alley.

Nathan let out a sigh of relief as the canopy closed. John eased the aircar up out of the alley and drove slowly and carefully away from the plaza. Several police flitters with flashing lights tore overhead in the opposite direction. Persephone patted his shoulder. "Good job on talking with her, Nathan," she said. "I was sure she was going to vanish."

"She stayed because she needs us," replied Nathan. "I understand that now. But I'm worried about where the hell Okuda's graybox wound up. She's a master thief. Why would she need our help?" He rubbed his forehead. "I only hope our hunch is correct as to where she'd go next. The best way to proceed is if Mackie can re-establish contact with her."

"He hasn't checked in yet," said John. "So we head for the Continental."

* * *

The Continental was about a hundred meters away. Mackie now felt better. This 'Ghost' character seemed reasonable. Paranoid, but reasonable. Mackie couldn't honestly blame her. In addition to being a wanted criminal, she had just been attacked by persons unknown.

He resisted the urge to glance around. Down in the drains, he thought he had caught sight of a ripple or two like a heat-shimmer in the air. Up in broad daylight, he might be able to see more. But trying to look would only make her more suspicious.

Speaking of suspicious...Mackie looked around and saw that the street was surprisingly free of foot traffic. He slowed to a stop.

"What is it?" came the whisper from behind him.

"Not sure," he murmured back. "It seems awfully-"

There was a huge crack and an explosion of pure white light in front of Mackie. The sensory overload drove him to his knees. He couldn't even hear himself screaming.

He looked behind him and could barely make out the cloaked figure of the woman, now no longer invisible. She staggered to her feet only to have several other figures surround her. He could only watch as she was led away in a daze. Mackie tried to get one of his feet under him, but then felt something kick his foot out from under him. He went down hard into the pavement.

Through streaming eyes, he could just make out a pair of feet in front of him. He looked up into a pair of shark-like eyes that he remembered very well.

"Hello there, Mr. Charon," said Kai Leng. "I owe you a little payback for that bottle to the head."

Mackie was able to turn his head just enough to roll with the punch that Leng delivered to his face. He still felt the crunch of his nose breaking, and his head fell backwards as he felt a flare of pain in his face.

He got his arms up and felt an cold sensation across one forarm. He saw that Leng now had a blade in his hand. A blade that was dripping and stained red.

Leng grabbed that forearm and then got to work on his face. There was a long, horrible, endless time of Mackie flailing his arm and trying to fend off the blade that kept slashing his face with contemptuous ease. All the while Leng's smile grew wider.

After a bit his screams became more like bubbling sobs as blood filled his mouth and throat. He felt the blade go against his neck and knew that he'd reached the end, he was going to die bleeding like a stuck pig in the street...

There was a distant rattle of gunfire, and several shots ricocheted off of Leng's shield. He dropped Mackie in surprise and looked behind him, then back down at the ruined wreck of Mackie's face. He gave Mackie a wink and then dashed off.

There was a long, confused time that followed. There was a salarian dressed in the impeccable clothes of the Continental standing over him, then he saw John and Persephone join him. The last thing he saw before mercifully passing out was Nathan's face staring down at him in horror.

* * *

By the time Kasumi came to, she was sitting comfortably in a chair. It was a very nice chair, in a very nice hotel room. The decor was perhaps a little too beige and bland for her tastes, but it was still very nice.

A man in a gray suit with a narrow face was seated in a chair facing hers. He had a welcoming smile on his face that looked forced, as if he'd learned the expression from a book.

"Ms. Goto?" he said softly. "My name is Harper. I must first apologize for the manner in which you were brought here. Events happened more quickly than we expected, and they became a little more...violent than we wished. But rest assured, our intentions are good. We have a job for you."

She sat up in the chair and stared fixedly at Harper. "Do you always recruit people using flash-bangs and sedatives?"

Harper chuckled ruefully. "No. But given the situation, it was the best non-lethal method we had to hand."

Kasumi shook her head. "Keep your job. You've just cost me...you've cost me a great deal."

"You refer to the matter of recovering Keiji Okuda's graybox, correct?" replied Harper. She glared at him but didn't respond, so he continued. "We had suspicions of what happened to it, of course. Mr. Okuda's secrets were something that Cerberus was interested in purchasing from him. Unfortunately, we never got the chance to make the offer." He leaned forward. "But we can at least help you recover the graybox."

She sighed. "Let me guess. You'll help me, _if_ I do your little errand."

Harper held up his hands as if to placate her. "You misunderstand me. As far as Cerberus is concerned, we are simply paying you for a job. We're throwing in our assistance with the graybox as a bonus. And the person who you'll be working for...well, let's just say that he's got a reputation for helping people."

"I already had help lined up, you twit," grated Kasumi. "Until you started throwing flash-bangs around."

"The Organization is old," he replied. "It's tired. A bunch of people who confuse style with efficacy. They weren't even going to pay you." Harper leaned back. "We, on the other hand, can pay quite well. And to assist you, we have someone who specializes in prevailing against hopeless odds." He handed her a datapad. "Here are the details."

Kasumi read through it in increasing disbelief. This amount of money...it had been a long time since Kasumi was in danger of starving, but this would make her truly wealthy. The other details of the job were harder to swallow. She'd harbored a bit of a crush on the first human Spectre, along with a good chunk of the human population. The news of his apparent death had saddened her.

Aloud, she said "You want me to work with Shepard? I thought he was dead."

"I assure you, he's not," said Harper with a grin. "If you prefer, you can meet the Commander before taking the offer. Trust me, he will need your help just as much as you need his. The threat that the Collectors pose is serious."

Kasumi hated to admit it, but the novelty of fighting for a good cause rather than just for money did appeal to her. However, if she could get paid at the same time it would be even better. And if anybody could help her break into Hock's compound it would be Shepard.

* * *

Mackie felt the familiar grumble of the _Helen's_ engines as he awoke. He tried to open his eyes but couldn't. His face felt oddly stiff, and he realized his head was swathed in medi-gel and bandages.

"Mmm?" he mumbled.

A hand gripped his. "Mackie!" said Nathan. "Don't speak, it's okay. You're okay. Persephone and Camicia patched you up, and you're in the medbay on the _Helen_. We had to leave Illium, it was getting too hot there with both the cops and Cerberus chasing us."

Mackie made writing motions with one hand on the palm of his other hand. After a pause, he felt Nathan press a stylus and a datapad into his hands. It was harder than he expected to write while blind. He tried to write his questions in big, obvious capital letters.

HOW BAD FACE?

The long pause after that told Mackie all he needed to know. Nathan finally spoke. "It was mostly superficial cuts. There was one bad one right over both eyes, which is why you've got a bandage over them. But you shouldn't have any issues with sight. We should be able to uncover your eyes in a day or so." He patted Mackie's shoulder. "Don't worry about it."

Mackie wanted to cry, but he couldn't muster the energy. So he kept writing.

GHOST?

Nathan sighed and filled Mackie in on what they'd found out. "And then we lost contact after Cerberus grabbed her," he finished. "Our best guess is that they want her to lead them to Okuda's graybox."

Mackie slumped back on the bed. It looked like they were down to their last ace-in-the-hole.

COIN?

Now the analyst chuckled. "That, at least, went as planned. She took it from me, and we're getting positional data from it. I can only hope that Cerberus let her keep the coin. It's the only way we can keep tracking her."

There was another pat. "It looks like she's headed back into Citadel space. It'll be a while before we get there. Plenty of time for you to heal up."

* * *

Even with modern nanoelectronics, there is only so much that one can pack into a volume the size of a gold coin. And John's team had to leave enough of the original gold in place to keep the weight and feel of the coin the same.

And so the coin given to Kasumi had a little transponder the size of a grain of rice embedded in it. The little transponder would every so often 'wake up' and search for an Extranet connection. If one was nearby, it would do a quick check to determine its location and then 'squirt' that information back into the Extranet as an email headed for a anonymous inbox owned by the Organization.

It was effective, but it meant that their tracking data was sporadic at best. John leaned his elbows on the mess table and looked again at the map they had so far of Kasumi's route.

"They are definitely in Citadel space by now," he said. "I just wish we could figure out where they're heading and get ahead of them."

Nathan crossed his arms. The analyst had been muted ever since the attack that had nearly killed Mackie. "She appears to be traveling commercial," he said. "That helps us, since we won't have the same delays that she'll experience. We should be able to get to her destination at the same time as she does."

Camicia was also at the table, but paid no attention to the map. Instead she was sharpening her knife. John knew that its edge was already fine enough to shave with, so this was clearly something she was doing to channel her anger.

"Good," said the turian. "Then I can show that Leng bastard how to properly use a knife."

The comm crackled, and Persephone's voice sounded. "All hands? It looks like the rest of Mackie's bandages are ready to come off."

* * *

At least Mackie had been able to see again after the first couple of days. And now he saw that the rest of the _Helen's_ crew was crammed into the little medbay. Even Errol had his big head in Mackie's lap, looking up at his injured pack member with worried purple eyes. He felt Persephone remove the last few bandages from his face, and he automatically began running his hands over his uncovered skin.

Mackie could feel scars, lots of scars. There was so many that he couldn't really build up a mental picture of what he now looked like. He felt the beginning twinges of panic as he looked at his fellow crew. Their faces were neutral, but he couldn't tell if it was a 'he-doesn't-look-that-bad' neutral or a 'he-now-looks-like-a-freak' neutral.

"Um, could I get a mirror?" he croaked.

Persephone placed a gentle hand on his shoulder and handed him a datapad with the other. With a shaking hand, he set the device's camera to reverse view and gazed at his own face.

It didn't look quite as bad as it had felt. There were a lot of scars that were small enough to be nearly invisible. The worst damage was on the right side of his face, which looked almost corrugated with its many deep red wounds. He also had a few good ones creasing his forehead.

His nose was also not quite as straight as it had been. For some reason he found that almost more upsetting than the rest.

"The redness should fade after a while," said Persephone gently.

Mackie gave a graveyard chuckle. "Well, I guess now I'm no more gorgeous than the rest of you uggos."

Nathan patted his hand. "That's the spirit."

After a little while, most of them filed out. Only Nathan was left behind.

"Let me know if you need anything," the analyst said. "Or if you just want to talk, or..." he trailed off.

"It's okay, dude. I'm just gonna head back to my cabin and sleep on a proper bed."

"We couldn't stop." The words almost seemed to burst out of Nathan. "I'm so sorry, we had to get chasing after the 'Ghost' so we couldn't take the time to find a good plastic surgeon. And we couldn't leave you behind on Illium, or Cerberus might have gotten to you..."

Mackie gently patted Nathan's stricken face. "I said it's okay. After this is all over, I'm gonna have enough cash to get my face fixed." He looked away. "And you don't have to hang around here or feel sorry for me."

"I want to stay," said Nathan. "And not because I feel sorry for you."

Mackie gave another cynical chuckle and indicated the ruined side of his face. "Even though I look like a Picasso painting now?"

He felt the analyst's hands clamp gently on either side of his head, and the press of Nathan's lips on his forehead in a soft kiss. Mackie stared up in disbelief at the analyst's friendly brown eyes.

"I am here because I care for you," said Nathan very quietly.

The words seemed to break an emotional dam inside him. Mackie leaned forward into Nathan's shoulder and hugged him fiercely. He began sobbing into Nathan's shirt, and heard himself babbling. It almost felt like somebody else talking.

"I was so scared! I almost died back there. He kept hurting me, and I couldn't do anything to stop him. He was gonna cut my throat! I knew I was gonna die!"

Nathan returned the hug and gently stroked the younger man's hair. "It's okay, you're safe. I'm here..."

* * *

Persephone smiled. "Got her."

Gabby looked up from her meal. "Who? Our invisible woman?"

The asari nodded. "Nathan suspected that she was traveling commercial. Now that we have information on where she's stopping, I was able to correlate those stops with flight manifests and look for a common name among them." She pointed at the terminal's display. "And I found the alias she's traveling under. Karen Garfield."

Nathan came strolling into the wardroom. Since Mackie had recovered, the two had removed the partition between their cabins. It warmed Gabby's heart to see how Nathan had stepped up to support Mackie since his near-death on Illium.

Persephone looked over at the analyst. "Maybe I should get your seal of approval, though?" she said teasingly.

Nathan shrugged and leaned over the asari's shoulder. After a few moments he nodded. "Good work. I think that's our woman." He stood back up and pondered. "Karen Garfield. I know that name. May I butt in?" he asked Persephone while indicating the terminal.

She nodded and stood to let him in. After a minute of searching, he smiled. "Yes, I was correct. Karen Garfield is an alias I've run into before. Our 'Ghost' is actually one Ms. Kasumi Goto."

Gabby leaned back and reached down to scratch Errol's head. The big varren was flopped on his side next to her chair. "Well, I guess we can stop calling her 'Ghost' now."

"Better than that," said Persephone. "I found that Ms. Goto has booked a ship for the Citadel. We might be able to get ahead of her now."

* * *

John Shepard was in a foul mood. The Commander and his two partners moved with ease through the bustle of Zakera Ward. The neon-lit hallway was cheerful, in contrast with his current mind-state. His meeting with the Council had been disastrous. About the only thing that had gone right was that he was 'kinda-sorta' a Spectre once more...as long as he kept his operations in the Terminus systems. The Reapers had been dismissed as a spook story, again, and he'd been treated like a borderline lunatic, again.

Shepard's jaw clenched as they rounded a corner and made their way back towards the docks. It was quite amazing how powerful a force denial could be. Even when the evidence had come waltzing up and nearly blown the fuck out of their super-dreadnought, it seemed like the other races were quite content to adopt a 'wait and see' attitude.

"I shoulda let the _Destiny Ascension_ burn," he muttered.

On one side of him strode a turian with bandages over one side of his face. Garrus patted his shoulder. "Hey, look at the bright side John. They didn't arrest us."

Having his old friend here was the only thing that kept Shepard from sliding into utter despair. He smiled and raised an eyebrow at Garrus. "That's a bad thing, actually. It would be entertaining to see them try and contain you."

"I'd like to see that too," said a rasping voice from Shepard's other side. The big man in yellow armor grinned in a way that made his scarred face look downright demonic. His pale synthetic eye gleamed as he continued. "I figger between me an' Garrus, we could get through about twenty C-Sec before we even needed to start shooting."

Shepard chuckled at Zaeed's bravado and checked his omni-tool. "Right. Now let's go see if this Goto character is willing to work with us."

"Is she really necessary?" asked Garrus.

The Commander shrugged. "We have no idea what expertise we'll need in this whole goat-fuck of a mission. If we need to get critical data that's hidden somewhere, our usual methods might not work."

"Is 'usual methods' a euphemism for applying high explosives with abandon?" replied the turian with an amused air.

"Hey, I've been a good boy. I haven't blown up anything in at _least_ a couple of years."

They were now at the taxi stand that would ferry them back to the docks. Shepard looked sourly over at the advertising kiosk that Goto had said to stand in front of. He looked at his two comrades. "Hang back and keep an eye out, okay?"

They both nodded, and Shepard walked forward. As he approached, the kiosk's hardware read his retinal patterns and called up an ad to match his known preferences. The hologram showed some kind of large-bore rifle that would be overkill for anything up to and including a finback whale.

"Hey, Shepard," purred the ad man's voice. "In the market for weaponry? Looking to go on the hunt? Why not visit Rodam Expeditions, conveniently located here on Zakera Ward..."

"Pass," said Shepard.

The next ad showed a hooded figure. He couldn't really make out the person's eyes, but they glittered with good humor at him.

"Commander Shepard," she said in a lovely contralto voice, "we have the finest companions waiting for you. Perhaps something smart, petite, and Japanese would be your style?"

The Spectre smiled. He wanted to see how this person handled herself. He clasped his hands behind his back and said "Pass."

The ad shifted. The hooded woman was now on a beach reclining in a chair. "Just enter your password for a fabulous prize package worth millions of credits."

"Pass."

Now she was seated behind a desk, with her hands folded in front of her and a look of sober concern on her face. "Do you have problems with Collectors? Try Kasumi's credit services."

"Pass."

Now it just showed her face, looking out at him in exasperation. "Seriously? I didn't think I'd need more than three damned ads..."

"Silence is Golden," he replied.

Kasumi's image rolled her eyes. "Finally. I don't remember reading that the great John Shepard was such a smart-ass."

"They tend to leave out details like that in the official biographies," he replied.

She nodded at him. "In any case, it's good to finally meet you. Kasumi Goto, at your service. I'm a fan. I must say, you're looking pretty spry for a dead man."

Shepard smiled wider. "I got better. What's with the passwords and sneaking around?"

Her hologram smiled back. "I'm the best thief in the business, not the most famous. Need to watch my step to keep it that way. Not to mention that I don't entirely trust our mutual employer."

"That's a wise precaution," he said. "So how about you come down off that catwalk above us so we can really talk?"

There was a long pause. "How did you know?"

"It was the most logical location. Good overview of the area, plus a decent escape route if things went bad." Shepard tilted his head. "But you don't have to worry about me."

Her image looked more closely at him. "I have to admit, it does look like you. I'm curious to see how you look in a proper suit."

"Suit?"

"Oh, didn't they tell you that part?"

He clenched his jaw again. Just when he was starting to relax, damn it. "No, somehow Cerberus left out that detail."

"I have a certain item of great personal signficance which needs to be retrieved. I've done some digging, and there's a formal dinner party which should be our most opportune moment."

Shepard crossed his arms. "And if I say no?"

"Well then I guess this little defenseless woman will have to take on the big bad people all by herself."

He resisted the temptation to snort at the notion that she was at all 'defenseless'. Besides, he did need to see how she handled herself in a more combat-oriented environment before really dropping her in the shit. "I guess we can't have that, can we? All right. You know where the _Normandy_ is docked?"

"I do. I have a few things I want to bring with me."

"Of course."

"Good. I'll meet you on board."

Shepard turned away and rejoined his two companions.

"All set?" asked Garrus.

Shepard nodded. "Did you get a fix on her?"

The turian shrugged. "Maybe? I thought I saw some kind of a shimmer on that catwalk, but it was really vague."

The Commander blew out a breath. "Well, she should be useful for infiltration if nothing else." He then looked around with a frown on his face. Something was off. He couldn't say what, exactly, but his horse-sense was telling him that they were being watched. "Damn. I think we need to trail our new recruit to make sure she doesn't come to harm."


	19. Suspicion

_A/N: Just to head off any comments about names, note that this is not the 'canonical' crew of the Normandy during ME2. Especially in the character of Engineer Donnelly. Chronologically this is set near the beginning of my other ME story (Tango 'Til They're Sore)._

* * *

As someone who stole things for a living, Kasumi understood well the difference between 'objective' and 'sentimental' value. She carried nothing of the former and quite a few things of the latter. Even though she traveled relatively light, her luggage was still extensive enough to require more than one person to carry it.

Fortunately, there were porters available right next to the dock where she'd first set foot on the Citadel. The hallway was cleaner than most other docks she'd been in; the Council must have thrown around the extra credits to make sure that anyone arriving at the seat of galactic power was suitably impressed.

Right now, it seemed only two porters were available. One was a tall turian female with a red, skull-like tribal tattoo. The other was an asari who was unusually short for one of their species; she was only a little taller than Kasumi.

The turian spoke first. "Can we help you, Miss...?"

"Garfield," said Kasumi. "I have some things that need to be transported. I'll probably need both of you, actually."

"Fine by me," said the asari with a smile. "That way I don't have to thumb-wrestle my over-sized colleague here to get your business."

The tall turian snorted and rolled her eyes, then smiled at Kasumi. "Lead on, please."

They traipsed back up the hallway. There was a storage facility nearby, a dingy little place which rented by the day. Kasumi tapped in a code next to her assigned bay and the door obligingly dilated open. There were seven smaller cases as well as one large flat crate.

"That's a lot of stuff," said the asari.

"Oh, I'm carrying some of it too," said Kasumi. "We need to get this to docking bay Twelve-B."

In spite of her smaller frame, the blue-skinned alien proved to be just as strong as her turian counterpart. As the three of them trouped out of the facility, Kasumi thought she caught a glimpse of the wounded turian that had been with Shepard earlier. She shrugged internally. It couldn't hurt to have them watching her back, she supposed.

As they made their way to the _Normandy's_ dock, Kasumi tried to reconcile what she'd known previously about Shepard with the man she'd just spoken to. This 'reborn' Shepard definitely looked like he'd been through the wringer. His face was crisscrossed with a series of scars, some of which appeared to be glowing. But his bearing had been upright and he'd carried himself without the faintest trace of a limp or other pains.

Much of Kasumi's concerns had been mollified with that meeting. But she still had lingering doubts about their mutual employer, and it sounded like Shepard did as well. That oddly made her feel better.

"Miss Garfield?" The turian porter's voice cut into her musing. Kasumi looked up and realized they were the only ones in this particular corridor. She cursed herself for not paying attention to her surroundings.

Kasumi made ready to activate her cloak and turned. "Yes?"

Something of her suspicion must have been evident, because the turian was holding up her hand. "We're not hostile, Ms. Goto. As a matter of fact, you've already met a couple of our people back on Illium."

Kasumi glanced at the smaller asari and saw that she was still holding two of Kasumi's cases and had a neutral expression on her face, as if she was watching a tennis match.

"What do you want?" Kasumi set her own cases down and managed to make it look casual.

"The same thing you do," said a familiar voice from behind her. She turned and saw the brown-haired, slightly dumpy man that she'd met on Illium. He had his hands clasped behind his back, but it didn't look like he was holding any surprises back there. It was just part of his professorial manner. "Namely, Keiji's graybox. But we'd prefer that Cerberus doesn't get their hands on it."

Her eyes narrowed. "I'm not working for Cerberus."

"We know," said the smaller asari. "That's why we're hoping to appeal to your sense of reason."

"You mean, come with you instead of with Shepard?" she said aloud.

The man nodded.

Kasumi thought about just triggering her cloak and escaping. But that would mean losing the painting, one of the few things she had left to remember Keiji by. She'd also read through the files on the Collector attacks that Cerberus had given her. While she knew that life in the Terminus could be harsh, she was still stunned by the fact that whole human colonies were vanishing and _nobody_ seemed to care.

"Perhaps I can reason with you in return," said Kasumi. "This isn't just about the graybox."

The man opened his mouth, but before he could speak a calm, deep, and reverberating voice cut through the hallway.

"Friends, it doesn't seem like the lady wants to go with you."

* * *

Nathan glanced down the hall past Camicia and Persephone and saw the bandaged turian that had accompanied Shepard (or rather the person calling himself Shepard) leaning casually against the wall. He was impressed with the turian's stealth, and even more impressed with the rifle that the turian had somehow gotten through Citadel security. That rifle was not quite pointing at anyone in the hallway...not yet.

The analyst was pretty sure of the identity of this newcomer...if the person they'd seen earlier was indeed John Shepard. "Garrus Vakarian, I presume?" he said pleasantly.

The turian didn't say anything, but he did give a slight nod.

"We mean no harm to Ms. Goto, I assure you," continued Nathan.

He just barely managed to avoid jumping out of his skin when another voice sounded from behind him. "I know. That's the only reason you three are still breathing."

Nathan cleared his throat carefully. "Would you mind if I, er, turn around?"

The new voice sounded amused. "Go ahead."

Keeping his hands clasped behind him, Nathan slowly pivoted to face the scarred man. From this close, he had to admit that this person sure did look like Shepard. He also had to admit the person had a really big pistol pointed right at his midsection. Nathan could only hope that those who had resurrected the Spectre hadn't been tampering with the man's mind. If Shepard was mindlessly dedicated to the Cerberus cause, this whole thing was going to get bloody pretty quickly. Starting with his own blood.

Well, there one way to find out.

"I have to admit, you do look like him," said Nathan.

Shepard's scarred face darkened. "I am him."

"You will forgive us for being at least a little skeptical."

"Right now I give less than two shits about what you find hard to believe. Kasumi, do you know these people?"

"Sort of," replied the thief. "I met the man on Illium. He was offering the help of the Organization. For the same little retrieval job I mentioned earlier."

"What organization?" asked Shepard.

Nathan could almost hear Kasumi roll her eyes. " _The_ Organization. Oh, right. I forgot you don't travel in those circles."

"I assure you, sir, that no matter what Cerberus might have told you about us I think our needs are aligned..." began Nathan, and then his view spun as he felt himself shoved violently against the wall. Shepard's hand was on his neck, and Nathan could feel the casual yet incredible strength in that grip. Shepard had his pistol pointed back down the hall away from the group. There was a ninety-degree bend in the corridor about ten meters away.

"Eyes sharp, Garrus," snapped Shepard. "Something is off." He pointed his pistol at the corner.

* * *

Shepard was about ten seconds from simply clubbing these three assholes in their respective heads, grabbing Kasumi's stuff, and booking it back to the _Normandy_. Something was really fucky here. He had heard the capital letter in Kasumi's voice when she'd mentioned this mysterious 'Organization'. It sounded more dramatic than the usual mob bullshit.

He flicked his eyes back towards Garrus for a brief moment, and by the time he looked back at the corner someone was there. A man with a short black beard, wearing a black suit. He held a smaller pistol and had it casually pointed at Shepard's head. Which made them even, since Shepard had his gun already pointed at the newcomer.

John Shepard had known many very dangerous men. Hell, he himself was a very dangerous man. And from the way the man had appeared out of nowhere, Shepard knew that this newcomer had just made his top ten list.

The pot-bellied man he had pinned against the wall cleared his throat. He sounded calm in spite of the large hand clamped around his neck. "John Shepard, may I introduce Edward Hadlock."

The man in the suit smiled. "I think we can dispense with the fake ID, Nathan. My name's John Wick."

"Got somebody else here, John," Garrus called from behind Shepard. "She's also got a gun."

"She's with me," said the man calling himself Wick. "Put your gun away, Bast."

"You sure?" said a new feminine voice.

Wick nodded.

"She's not pointing a gun at me anymore," said Garrus in an even tone. "Lady, where the spirits did you _come_ from?"

"Bast tends to do that," said the female turian.

Shepard took a deep breath. He was still getting the hang of the cybernetic reconstruction that had been done on him, and his 'accelerating' ability wasn't easy to call on. But he made ready as best as he could while he said his next statement. "You have five seconds to explain to me why I shouldn't crush this man's neck and then kill the rest of you."

Wick raised one eyebrow, as if the thought was mildly amusing. "Nathan?"

Nathan blinked, then started talking. "Your team and ours want the same thing. It's vital to Alliance interests to get that graybox secured. We have a better chance of success if we pool our talents rather than waste them working against each other." The man took a breath. "And we're even willing to overlook your affiliation with Cerberus. Believe me when I say that is generous on our part." There was a grim set to Nathan's features.

Shepard could feel his own face become equally stormy. "Let's get one thing clear, you fuckos. I am _not_ with Cerberus. I am using their resources at the moment, that is _all_."

Wick glanced at Nathan, who nodded. The black-suited man relaxed, and the gun in his hand was suddenly gone. "Okay."

"Just like that?" asked Shepard.

Wick nodded. "Nathan vouches for you. That's good enough for me."

Shepard figured they'd been hanging around this hallway pointing guns for long enough. "Fine. I'll show you some courtesy as well. Your people will drop off Ms. Goto's things at the _Normandy_. You and this guy," he nodded towards Nathan, "will come aboard and plead your case. Your other people will disperse, get lost, and stay lost. If we see the merest hint of them around my ship, if anything at all suspicious happens, I'll kill you both with my bare hands. Clear?"

"That sounds reasonable," said Wick. He sounded like Shepard was discussing what to have for dinner.

* * *

John Wick stood causally in what Shepard had named the 'CIC' of the SR-2 _Normandy_. He had to admit that Cerberus had spared no expense in making this ship feel like a luxury yacht rather than a warship. The bandaged turian, Garrus, stood guard next to him while Nathan was watched over by a hulking man in yellow armor named Zaeed. Kasumi stood apart from them, looking somewhat freaked out by the whole development. John felt a little sorry for the thief; she'd somehow found herself right in the middle of two factions competing for her.

Shepard turned away from his conversation with a petite redhead that stood by one side of the holographic display that dominated the CIC. "Right. Kasumi, what exactly do you need and where is it right now?"

The thief cleared her throat. "It's the graybox of Keiji Okuda, he was a...very good friend of mine. Right now his graybox is being held in the compound of Donovan Hock."

"Hock has the graybox?" Nathan's face looked like he'd bitten into something sour.

"You know him?" asked Shepard.

Nathan nodded. "I'm an...well, I _was_ an analyst for Alliance Intelligence. Hock is a weapons dealer and smuggler who will deal with anyone. Especially with the Batarians, which is why the Alliance keeps tabs on him."

Shepard's eyes narrowed. "I thought you were with this bullshit 'Organization'."

"That would be me, actually," said John.

"And it's not bullshit," added Kasumi. "They're slmost as powerful as Cerberus, only not as...open about it." She frowned under her hood. "Although my understanding was that they never dabble in political matters. Why would they be working for the Alliance on this?"

"Because we've...sorry, they've been hired by an individual," replied Nathan. "Admiral Steven Hackett is paying for this directly." He watched Shepard closely while he said the name.

Shepard blinked in surprise. "You're working for Hackett? Shit, you should have said that at the start. It would have involved less pointing guns at each other."

"No offense, but we weren't yet sure of your true loyalties," said John.

Shepard shrugged. "I guess I can see your point. Maybe I've got some kind of control chip shoved up my ass...right, Miranda?"

John turned and saw a woman walk out of the elevator into the CIC. She had blue eyes like Shepard, only hers were icy and flat like chips of glass. Her pale skin matched the black-and-white catsuit she was wearing. The catsuit had an orange-and-black hexagonal logo on one shoulder that John knew all too well.

"As I told you, Shepard," she said in a voice that matched the ice in her eyes, "We have done nothing of the sort. In spite of my recommendations." Her flat eyes took in both John and Nathan, and her lips curled in a slight sneer. "What are _they_ doing here?"

"Helping, maybe," replied Shepard.

Miranda's face grew fierce as she pointed at John Wick. "That man is currently the subject of an all-hands bulletin throughout the Cerberus network. He's a suspected member of the Organization. And you have him waltzing on board like..."

"Hold it right there." Shepard's tone was mild, but John felt the bulldozer force behind that voice. "It sounds like you know all about these people."

"I know some," spat Miranda. She shot a look of pure hate at John Wick, who just smiled back. "They're information brokers and assassins for hire. They tend to the theatrical."

"You _don't_ say," said Shepard in mock surprise. "Tell me, do they do anything as theatrical as raising a man from the dead and resurrecting a destroyed ship?"

Miranda managed a small smile. "You have a point. But we can't have these people on board."

"You won't need to," replied Nathan. "We've got our own ship."

The Cerberus officer still looked unhappy.

Shepard spoke, and he had a soothing tone to his voice like he was trying to calm down a skittish horse. "Miranda, I know you're torn. You were told to follow my orders. But I also know you make regular reports to The Illusive Man. I'm fine with that. All I ask is that you hold off on reporting this until after we get Ms. Goto's 'little task' completed."

She finally nodded.

Shepard gave a wider smile. "Good. Now, as to accommodations for our new crewmember. Unfortunately we have no spare cabins but we do have an observation lounge that I think can be re-purposed for you. Ms. Chambers can show you there."

Kasumi tilted her hooded head. "Mmm, if you don't mind I'll choose Mr. Vakarian here as my escort." She walked over and placed a hand on the turian's arm.

Garrus gave Shepard a look of panicked surprise.

But the Spectre just kept smiling. "Sure thing. Have fun, Garrus."

The turian straightened up as if he'd just been given a life-or-death mission. "All right, Ms. Goto, let's get your things squared away." He walked towards the elevator with Kasumi on his arm.

"Call me Kasumi, please..."

The elevator doors hissed closed as Shepard turned back to John Wick. "We need an all-hands meeting to plan this operation out. But not here on the Citadel, there are too many parties listening in. Do you have spacesuits?"

John nodded, and Shepard continued. "Good. There's a dwarf planetoid near this system's mass relay. It's called Falayta's Folly, for some damn-fool reason. Let's rendezvous there and figure out this whole mess."

"Not to be all suspicious or anything, but how do we know you'll be there?" asked John. "You've got Kasumi, after all."

Shepard didn't look angry, just mildly annoyed. "Well, for a start I'd rather not piss off Hackett. But as a show of good faith..." He turned to the redhead nearby. "Ms. Chambers, would you be willing to be on their ship for a few hours?"

The petite woman grinned. "So now I'm adding 'hostage' to my job description?"

"Nothing so unseemly," said Nathan. "Let's call it a chance to get to know our crew."

* * *

Kelly Chambers knew that her job of 'yeoman plus counselor' meant that she would have quite a few odd experiences while working for Shepard. But she had never expected to be sitting in a renovated turian corvette while a varren (who had apparently fallen in love/lust with her) held its huge head in her lap.

"So, ah, how did you get ahold of this fine specimen?" she asked the ship's engineer. She carefully stroked the varren's head, trying to avoid the spines. It closed its eyes and made some little happy noises that sounded like 'wirfls'.

"John's the one who found Errol," said Gabby. "The poor little guy was gonna be thrown into a pit to fight other varren, or cut up for meat."

Kelly managed to keep from snatching her hand away from Errol's head. "So he's not...domesticated?"

Gabby shrugged. "Not really. I mean, it turns out that varren have a very strong pack instinct. Errol sees us all as his pack, and since we're cool with you he's decided that you're also in the pack."

"How lucky for me," replied Kelly. But she did pet his head a little more vigorously, which Errol seemed to appreciate. "Sorry, I didn't get your last name, Gabby."

"Daniels."

Kelly's eyes widened. "Oh. Is your first name Gabriella?"

The engineer looked a little suspicious. "Yeah...why?" Then she flinched back a little at Kelly's sudden laughter.

"It's amazing how you can run into people you know. I'm pretty sure our Chief Engineer is old friend of yours."

* * *

Falayta's Folly had a low enough gravitational field for the _Normandy_ to make a direct landing on its surface. Camicia brought the _Helen_ in low over the frigate and gave them all a good look at it while she set the corvette down nearby. Gabby was surprised at the emotional kick she felt while looking at the familiar and very famous delta-winged shape.

"She sure is a pretty ship," said Mackie, echoing her own musings.

The turian pilot snorted. "She's a lot bigger than the original _Normandy_. Especially in the ass. Now, the original? _That_ was a beautiful ship."

"So you're not an ass person then, Cammy?" asked Persephone with a smile.

"Bite me. And I mean that in the human sense, not the turian sense. Ya smart aleck."

They all put on their spacesuits and trouped over to the _Normandy_. John had figured that by this point they had to trust Shepard to not pull anything. It was either that, or give up and go home. After the hangar pressurized, Shepard entered the space accompanied by Kasumi and Garrus.

As the crew of the _Helen_ stripped off their suits, Gabby worked up the courage to approach the famous Spectre. "Um, Commander? Kelly mentioned that you have a Chief Engineer that I might know..."

Shepard smiled warmly, and she instantly felt at ease. "You must be Gabby. I know he'll be glad to see you." He raised his head. "EDI, can you ask Chief Engineer Donnelly to stop by the hangar?"

A synthetic but very soothing female voice sounded through the hangar. "Of course, Shepard. And welcome aboard, Ms. Daniels. Logging out."

Gabby had a sudden suspicous thought. A Virtual Intelligence wouldn't be so forward as to welcome someone aboard. VIs were powerful, but lacked initiative. This 'EDI' character was something more than a standard ship VI.

Her musings were cut short by a familiar accented voice. "Ach, what is it now, Shepard? I'm still gettin' the tunings right on our wee bairn...GABBY!"

She spun and saw a big bear of a man dressed in blue overalls. His red hair stuck out at odd angles, and his nose bore signs of being repeatedly broken. The man's eyes had an odd squint to them, which Gabby knew was due to scar tissue from quite a few blows to the face.

"MARCUS!" she yelled, just before he grabbed her up in a fierce hug.

Their happy little moment was interrupted by a small scream from Kasumi. The thief had just caught sight of Mackie's face as he took off his helmet.

* * *

Shepard glowered at Miranda. "Well?"

She leaned back in her office chair and raised her hands. "I don't have a good answer for it, Shepard. It wasn't my operation. I've...expressed my reservations about Kai Leng to the Illusive Man before."

The Spectre crossed his arms. "Reservations?"

Miranda leaned forward. "Fine. I find Leng to be a _fucking_ embarrassment. He's nothing more than a sadistic punk, and Cerberus doesn't need him. Our organization needs to become...better. That's the reason I threw myself into both your resurrection and this mission without hesitation. This is our chance to rehabilitate Cerberus' image in the galaxy at large."

He leaned back against the doorway to her office and stared off into space. "I've offered to have Dr. Chakwas take a look at him. See if she can do anything for the scarring."

"That's good. In spite of my personal misgivings, I've done some research on the Hock compound, and it's a fortress. I think we'll need these peoples' help."

"I'm glad they meet with your approval," said Shepard in a flat tone. He turned to look at her like she was mounted under a microscope. "I've had to clean up _your_ peoples' messes before, during the chase after Saren. I told your boss that Cerberus is already on thin ice with me. But you're the only ones doing jack shit about the Collectors, so here I am. However, that only goes so far. If I keep running into shit like this, we are going to have to...reevaluate our relationship. Is that clear?"

Miranda nodded.

* * *

Mackie had never had a mother...at least, he'd never been raised by one. This silver-haired woman with the slight British accent somehow filled the image in his mind of 'mother'. It put him at ease, or at least as much ease as he could be while sitting inside a frigate with the Cerberus logo plastered on the outside. After all, his current face was courtesy of a Cerberus operative.

"Look up, please...thank you," said Dr. Chakwas. He felt her fingers touch along his jaw and throat as she kept talking. "Well, there's no sign of infection. And given that you don't have a doctor on staff, they did a decent job in patching you up."

"Right now, I'm glad to be breathing," he replied.

Dr. Chakwas smiled. "That's the spirit." She patted his hand and moved away from the examination table. "I can definitely fix the nose, and take care of the more severe scarring. But keep in mind I'm a military doctor, not a plastic surgeon. If you want to get more thorough reconstruction you'll need to visit a specialist."

Mackie shrugged. "Even fixing the nose is a big help. At least I'll be able to breathe right again." He looked curiously at her. "If you don't mind my asking, what's your story? How did somebody like you wind up working for...these people?"

She sounded amused. "You mean Cerberus? The answer is easy. The Commander and I go way back. We worked together during his initial mission as a Spectre. I jumped at the chance to be on his crew again."

"So it really is Shepard?" asked Mackie. "He's not some kind of a clone or shit like that?"

She smiled. "It's him. I understand your concern, but at least in this case Cerberus actually did something right."

"There's a first time for everything, I guess..." Mackie was interrupted by a pleasant tenor voice that sounded from outside the medbay.

 _"When a felon's not engaged in his employment (his employment) or maturing his felonious little plans (little plans) his capacity for innocent enjoyment ('cent enjoyment) is just as great as any honest man's (honest man's)."_

The voice was attached to a short, cheerful-looking salarian who came bounding into the medbay. Mackie was not encouraged by the brief look of exasperation that crossed Dr. Chakwas' face.

"Dr. Mordin," she said, "I don't think there's any need for your particular expertise on this case."

"Most likely, but never hurts to be sure!" said Mordin in a sunny tone. Mackie suddely found himself very, very close to the salarian doctor's huge eyes as the alien gave him a once-over. "Hmm. Yes, scar tissue main issue of concern. Trust you will do your usual excellent job, yes?" He drew in a huge sniff through his nose. "But perhaps patient would like to seize opportunity?"

"Opportunity?" squeaked Mackie.

"Going under knife, so to speak. Have several ideas for improving human body. More efficient digestive system, keener eyesight, improved reflexes." _Sniff._ "Perhaps some claws?"

Mackie thought that if he started running now he could make it back down to the hangar and out of this madhouse. Or at least he could hide behind John Wick.

Chakwas gently shooed the salarian away from her patient. "I think we're just going to handle the damage, Dr. Mordin. No need to go...improving things right now." She held a syringe in her other hand, but didn't uncap it until the salarian had left with a cheerful wave.

"Um...that was a doctor?" asked Mackie.

"Oh, yes. Brilliant and driven. He cured an entire plague outbreak on Omega nearly single-handedly. But he gets, ah, fixated sometimes." She indicated her syringe. "Don't worry, this is a simple anaesthetic. But if you've got cold feet about the whole thing, I understand completely."

The young man took a deep breath. "Nah. I trust you, doc. But if I wake up with spines or an extra arm you and I are gonna have words."

The doctor laughed. "I'm sure. Now, hold still...wonderful. We'll let that work for a bit and then get started."

* * *

Gabby stared in wonder at the _Normandy's_ oversized drive core. "This is insane! How the hell did they fit it in here?" The two engineers were in a little alcove off of Main Engineering. The alcove was situated almost directly under the pulsing blue glow of the ship's heart.

Donnelly grinned. "I know, it's a wee bit overwhelming. But it's a copy of the original Tantalus core on the first _Normandy_. It gives our bonny lass quite a bit more speed and agility than you'd expect." He patted the railing fondly, then turned to Gabby with a raised eyebrow. "And you? How did you go from the Alliance to workin' on a turian corvette with such a motley crew?"

She gave an embarrassed shrug. "I guess I can answer that with one word. Hackett."

Donnelly frowned, and she held up a hand.

"Hey big guy, I volunteered, okay? I wasn't exactly getting anywhere inside the Alliance anyway."

He subsided. "All right. As long as you weren't pressured intae anything."

Gabby smiled. "To be honest, it's been pretty smooth sailing so far. Well, I did have to hack an asari ship on the fly while somebody was stalking me. And we did have some people break into our ship and threaten to rape me BUT..." she held up an admonishing finger as Donnelly drew in breath to speak, "I was perfectly safe. Errol was watching out for me."

"Who's Errol?"

"He's our, um, mascot I guess. He's a varren that John picked up on Korlus."

"You have a varren as a pet?" Donnelly looked a bit ashen at the idea.

"He's perfectly safe. I think he's kind of adopted me, actually. He sleeps in Engineering now."

Donnelly laughed. "So you have a wild animal next to yer drive core, eh? Well, I guess we have more in common than I thought."

Before Gabby could ask what he was talking about, a low-pitched feminine voice sounded from behind them. "Hey Assface, didja get yourself another minion? She's cute. Maybe you'll actually get laid for once."

Gabby turned back towards Engineering and saw a slender woman who was wearing pants and almost nothing else. Her shaved head gleamed in the light of the drive core, and her skin was covered with a welter of tattoos. The young woman leaned casually against the entryway to the alcove and looked at them both with amused contempt.

She half expected Donnelly to give the newcomer a tirade of Scottish abuse. But instead he responded mildly. "Hello, Jack. This is Gabby, an old friend of mine. Sorry if we woke ye."

Jack shook her head. "Nah, I was just gettin' a little stir-crazy down there and I heard ya yammerin' up here. Plus everybody's runnin' around what with the new people on board. Anyway, I'm gonna go eat. Standard painful death threats apply if either of you assholes touch my shit." She flipped them the bird and stalked off.

"Who...what..." Gabby sputtered words trailed into silence.

Donnelly smiled. "That's Jack. She decided to set up her quarters right under Engineering."

"And you _let_ her?"

The red-haired engineer laughed. "She's a biotic, and she can take apart a thousand-pound mech with her bare fookin' hands. So yeah, I let her."


	20. Preparation

John Wick was already in the observation lounge that Kasumi had claimed as her quarters. He was looking out of the lounge's large viewport as Nathan led the others through the door. The analyst stopped dead upon seeing a very familiar painting hung on the wall next to what looked like the 'bar' area.

"Is that what I think it is?" Nathan asked.

"It sure as shit looks like it," replied John without turning around.

Nathan strode over and planted himself in front of the painting while most of the _Helen's_ crew gathered behind him. It was indeed Hamirn Jou's painting _Memories of Palaven_. As the analyst had expected, images did not do the real thing justice. It had a brooding, haunting quality that made him feel somehow uneasy. Nathan took a full minute to gaze at it, knowing that his graybox would allow him to preserve this moment forever.

He then stepped back and let the others crowd in to get a closer look. Nathan looked over and saw Kasumi leaning against what looked like a little 'bar' area at one end of the lounge. The thief had a smirk on her face that matched the amused glitter in her hooded eyes.

"I take it you're a fan of the artist?" she said as Nathan strolled over.

The analyst shrugged. "I am now. We used that painting's theft to try to track down...well, the thing we were looking for."

"You can say his name, you know," she said softly.

Nathan glanced back at the painting. "Let me guess. You and Keiji were independently hired to steal that, and you wound up trying to steal it at the same time."

Kasumi gave a chuckle. "Exactly. We led each other on a merry chase, I can tell you. I guess we wound up admiring each other's ability." Her smile faded. "And you can fill in the rest."

Nathan nodded. "It's strange. I had thought that Keiji was holding onto the painting in hopes of a better offer, or due to some sentimental attachment to it. I'd never thought of love as a motivation."

He heard John walk up behind them. "Love makes people do a lot of things they'd never do otherwise," said the assassin. He scanned the bar area. "You have a bottle of Kentucky bourbon?"

Kasumi grinned. "Now aren't you glad you didn't go shooting up me and my stuff? Go ahead, have a glass."

John actually smiled as he poured himself a slight amount. As he took a sip, the door to the lounge hissed open and Shepard entered, followed by Mackie and Garrus. The young human's face was uncovered, in contrast to Garrus who still had a few bandages covering his injuries.

Nathan felt a little lump rise in his throat as he walked over to Mackie. "You're looking better, love." And he was. The angry red scarring that had creased one side of his face was now smoother and less painful-looking. His nose was straighter, and the lesser scars around his eyes were now gone.

The fixer shrugged offhandedly, but he was smiling as he and Nathan hugged. It was the first real smile Nathan had seen on Mackie's face in quite a while. "I guess so." said Mackie. "I went ahead and took the bandages off as soon as Dr. Chakwas said it was okay. The big dramatic unbandaging thing was getting old."

Nathan looked over at Garrus. "I'm surprised you haven't been able to get yours off yet."

Mackie laughed. "Give him a break, dude. He took a missile to the face."

"Don't make it sound so dramatic! It was a small missile," said Garrus with a turian smile.

Meanwhile Shepard and John were conferring over by the bar. Nathan noted that the two men were about the same height, although Shepard's build was much more muscular. It was like seeing a rottweiler standing next to a greyhound.

Shepard turned to the rest of them, and Nathan saw with some amusement that the Commander also now held a glass of bourbon. "Okay, everyone. Pulling this thing off sounds like it's going to be a cast-iron bitch, so I'm handing the floor to Kasumi. She can walk us through what we're facing." He made a sweeping gesture to the center of the room, and the thief stepped forward. Nathan could tell she was a little more nervous than she let on.

John Wick watched while Kasumi tapped commands into her omni-tool. "Keiji Okuda and I tried to infiltrate Donovan Hock's compound once before. We failed. I barely escaped with my life, while Keiji..." She paused and took a breath. "Hock ripped Keiji's graybox out of his skull while he was still alive."

Shepard looked grim, which fit the glowing scars on his face. John was honestly still a little put off by them. They made Shepard look like some sort of high-tech revenant, come back from the dead to wreak a terrible vengeance.

"Hock sounds like a sadistic bastard," said the Spectre.

Kasumi nodded. "None of the escort services on Bekenstein will cater to him anymore. Apparently he got carried away one too many times. He also loves to hoard precious items, which is probably why he kept the graybox. I honestly don't know if he realizes what's on it."

Shepard crossed his arms. "How damaging is the information on Keiji's graybox?"

Nathan spoke up. "If Hock is able to decode it, then the Alliance is facing war with the Batarian Hegemony."

"Okay, that's bad," said Garrus. "I take it a frontal assault is out of the question?"

The thief tilted her head as she thought. "I wouldn't recommend it. First, I'm sure that Hock has a contingency plan to evacuate in the event of attack. He might take the graybox with him, since it's small and very valuable. Second, he's paid off the local law enforcement so they'll come to his aid during any attack. And lastly the compound is a literal fortress."

Kasumi touched a few more controls, and something that looked like a flat-topped pyramid appeared in the middle of the room. Several items became outlined while she mentioned them. "This is the Hock compound. Around the main building are three concentric walls, each with its own sensor network to detect any intrusion. They operate independently of each other, so to get in you have to do three separate hacks. And that's before you even get to the compound itself."

The central building now lit up. "It has the usual networked sensor suites inside, of course. Those feed into a central security room which is occupied around the clock by a dedicated staff of thirty guards. That staff also performs regular patrols of the compound, but unfortunately for us they do not stick to an exact routine."

"Where does Hock get his security staff from?" asked Persephone.

"Mostly ex-military. They're a mixture of human and batarian. They are well equipped and very well paid, so bribing will be difficult." She pointed at a huge room in the ground under the building. "This is Hock's main vault. The graybox will certainly be in there, along with the rest of Hock's collection."

Shepard walked around the display as if memorizing it. "Tell me more about this dinner party you mentioned."

The thief took a breath. Now that the discussion was underway, she looked much less nervous. "The party is in three weeks. It's the only social event on Hock's calendar for the next five months, and it's the easiest way to get somebody inside. The attendees are mostly arms manufacturers and other similar types. Many of them are probably trying to butter up Hock to get his business."

John met eyes with Persephone and saw her smile. It was clear she had the same thought that he did. "It looks like Edward Hadlock gets to make a reappearance," he said.

"Will that ID be useful?" asked Shepard.

John nodded. "It should be. We set 'Hadlock' up as an arms manufacturer who sold his company. We could say that his attendance is due to him trying to get back in the game."

"That takes care of Wick," said Garrus. "But we're going to need more than one person inside. What about the Commander and Kasumi?"

John looked over as Shepard pondered. "Wick and I could claim to be setting up a joint venture of some kind, I guess," said the Commander. "But I'll need a fake ID at least as good as his."

Nathan clasped his hands behind his back. "I believe that I can handle that."

"And I'm getting in by shadowing the two Johns while cloaked," added Kasumi. "Hock and his goons already have my face on file, so there's no way I can risk them getting a look at me."

Shepard rubbed his face. "Okay, from the top. John and I get IDs and party invitations. We walk into the party with a cloaked Kasumi behind us. Then we slip away to the vault at an opportune moment. Kasumi, can you get us in?"

The thief nodded. "Yes, but it might take some time. He's certainly changed the locks and protocols to get into the vault after Keiji and I got in the last time."

Shepard's face softened. "Are you sure you're okay with going back in there?"

Kasumi's face set in determination as she nodded.

"I don't like it," said John Wick. "Once we're in the vault, then we grab the graybox and slip back out and that's it? We've gotta assume things will go bad on us."

While John spoke, Garrus was getting a closer look at the compound's schematics. "If things do go badly, it looks like getting weapons in is going to be a pain. The building's sensor suite is designed to automatically notify the security force if any gun is detected."

John thought about his omni-tool blade. He should be able to sneak that particular weapon into the compound, and then he could pull the same 'use their own guns' stunt he'd used in Barcelona.

Aloud, he said "I have a way to take down at least a couple guards. Then we can use their guns."

Kasumi shook her head. "I tried that the last time when I was running for my life out of there. Their weapons have biometric safeties that only allow them to be used by their owner."

"Well, shit."

Shepard grinned at John's sour face, but it was a comradely grin. "I wonder if we could get away with giving Hock some sort of gift?" mused the Commander. "Kasumi, you said that he was a collector. Maybe if we come up with some kind of statuary he'd like, we can make one with a secret compartment inside it..." He trailed off at Kasumi's incredulous expression.

"Do you have _any_ idea how suspicious that will look?" asked the thief.

The Commander actually looked a little sheepish. "Well, we are just brainstorming here."

Kasumi chewed on her lip. "The other problem is, even if we do get weapons in there, any sort of prolonged firefight will bring in the local cops."

Camicia raised a taloned hand. "So what exactly does he collect? I'm assuming you and Keiji were trying to steal some of it."

Kasumi shrugged. "You name it, he wants it. That's why I call him a 'hoarder' not a 'collector'. Collectors at least pick one or two areas of interest and stick with them. Hock, on the other hand, just grabs stuff he thinks is rare and valuable. Statues, paintings, vintage clothing, ancient weapons..."

John perked up at the last. "Weapons?"

"Yes, while I was in the vault I saw he had an arsenal's worth. All of them in a separate environmental enclosure, and they looked as clean as the day they were made." She looked up at John. "But they're not usable. They're museum pieces. I mean, they use _brass cartridges_ containing _gunpowder_. I saw all sorts of ammunition in there as well, I couldn't believe how old it all was."

John smiled. "I could probably make do with those, if I needed to."

Shepard raised one eyebrow. "You regularly practice with gunpowder weaponry?"

Persephone gave a little snort, and waved a hand as Shepard looked quizzically at her in turn. "John Wick's a bit of a unique case," she said. "Let's just leave it at that."

Garrus also looked a little askance at John. "Okaaaay, so since Commander Shepard _isn't_ an expert in antique firearms, how do we get him a gun? For that matter, how do we get him armor?"

Shepard laughed. "I'm not worried about armor, Garrus. Hell, all I had was a tee shirt during the first five hours of the Skyllian Blitz."

Now it was John Wick's turn to raise an eyebrow. "Really?" He'd read a little about the Blitz, and he sure as shit wouldn't want to be waltzing through an action like that with only a shirt for protection. Shepard was either a legit badass or crazy. And he didn't seem crazy.

The Commander shrugged. "I was on vacation."

"So is that why you wear tee shirts all the time?" asked Garrus. "I thought it was because you had no fashion sense."

The Spectre pulled a sour face. "Aw shit, that's right. I'm going to have to wear a suit for this, aren't I? Where the hell am I gonna get one?"

John did a quick check on his omni-tool and smiled. "I can help there. And we can take care of Shepard's armor needs at the same time. Bekenstein has a Continental hotel."

The Commander rubbed his face. "Great. I hate suits. Okay, so that leaves two big issues to take care of. How do we smuggle weapons in, and what do we do about the local cops?"

* * *

Nathan tried to give a winning smile, but Shepard was not looking happy as he loomed over the analyst. "Solomon...Gunn?" asked Shepard. "Really?"

Nathan leaned back into the sofa in the Commander's cabin. This was even more plush than the 'rich man cabin' they'd set up for John Wick on the _Helen_. "I know the name seems very on-the-nose, but Alliance Intelligence has a number of fake IDs set up for its agents in case of emergency. This was the one that was closest to what we want. Mr. Gunn has a history of weapons development and several patents to his name."

Shepard snorted. "I guess it'll do. But won't Alliance Intel notice that one of their IDs has gone missing?"

Nathan shrugged. "The IDs are used very rarely. The only way they would know it's missing is if there was any history of its existence in the first place." He smiled wider. "And there isn't, at least not any more."

The Commander looked troubled. "Ordinarily I wouldn't like the idea of screwing Alliance Intel like this. But I guess if it's for Hackett, it's okay."

Nathan didn't want to bring it up, but he figured that he should. He leaned forward and nervously tapped his fingertips together. "And once we, er, collectively have possession of Keiji's graybox, what then? I know Hackett will want us to destroy the data."

"That is entirely up to Kasumi," said Shepard in a voice that made it clear that the subject was closed.

* * *

"We're gonna need an extra shuttle for this," said Mackie. He sat in the _Normandy's_ mess alongside Garrus as they looked over the map of Bekenstein's main city.

Garrus leaned forward and traced out the routes with a taloned finger. "Probably two more. So three shuttles in total. I can drive one."

"And I've got one," said Camicia. She was behind them and leaning causally against the counter that separated the kitchen area. "Bast can drive the third one to drop off Kasumi and our boys. So three shuttles...I guess we can't use the _Normandy's_ own shuttle, seeing as how it's got a nice big Cerberus logo pasted on its side."

"Don't remind me," muttered Garrus. "In any case, we're also going to need a warehouse space to paint and prep everything."

Mackie smiled. "I can take care of the warehouse at least."

Camicia sighed. "And I guess I can look into somehow, heh, 'acquiring' the shuttles."

Garrus turned around. "You don't have to do that alone, you know. I've got some skill at hacking and whatnot."

The female turian tilted her head. "Really? Not that I doubt your ability, but weren't you Mr-Squeaky-Clean C-Sec not too long ago?"

Garrus gave a honking laugh. "I guess you didn't hear what I was getting up to on Omega. Let's just say my priorities have changed."

* * *

Bekenstein was a developed world, one that reminded John a little of Illium. The main city, however, did not have the soaring asari skyscrapers that characterized Nos Astra. And its warehouse district was a lot grimier than its asari counterpart. John Wick strode into the center of the warehouse that Mackie had acquired and watched while the fixer, Gabby, and Persephone applied paint to their purloined shuttle fleet.

The petite asari straightened up and pulled off her filter mask, then set aside her sprayer. She gave John a big smile as she walked toward him. He was surprised all over again at the flutter in his chest upon seeing her. It was a feeling that he'd never thought to have again, not since Helen had passed.

"So what do you think?" she asked while hugging him.

He nodded his approval as he hugged her back. "It looks good. It's weird, but I that hope all this work is for nothing. If all goes well, we just walk out the front gate with no one the wiser. Is Shepard here?"

Persephone paused. "Yeah, he was checking on something in the office." He didn't miss the little hesitation in her voice.

"Is there a problem with him?"

She hugged him tighter and shook her head. "No, I don't think so. Just nerves."

John figured that this was due to the as-yet-unspoken history between her and Liara. He'd gotten hints that it had something to do with Shepard's first mission against Saren, but that was all. Well, if Shepard didn't make an issue of it then he wasn't about to either.

He strolled over to the office and ran into Shepard coming out the other way. The big man was actually bouncing with happiness.

"I think I figured out how to get a few guns in there," Shepard told John. Then his grin faded. "Crap. Is it time for the suit fitting already?"

"It's not _that_ big of a deal," replied John. "Trust me, these guys will make it painless."

Shepard looked behind him at the three repainted shuttles and walked past John to get a closer inspection.

John followed with a smile. "Delaying tactics will only prolong the suffering, you know."

"Yeah, yeah." Shepard put his hands on his hips as he surveyed the craft. "Damn, that's not bad. This scheme just might work after all."

By now Mackie had stripped off his own filter mask and grinned at Shepard. "Why, thanks for the confidence." He glanced at John standing behind Shepard. "If you're going to get your suit, do me a favor and stay away from black." He nodded towards John. "We've already got _one_ person walking around looking like a goddamn undertaker."

* * *

Shepard had expected the lobby of the Bekenstein Continental hotel to be luxurious, and it certainly was. What he didn't expect was the almost church-like atmosphere inside. Even for a luxury hotel, it was really damn quiet.

The man behind the counter had a shaved head and skin the color of polished ebony. He gave John Wick a large smile as he walked up with Shepard trailing behind. "Good afternoon, sir. How may I help you?"

Something large and gold swiftly passed between Wick and the concierge. "We need a session with the hotel tailor," said Wick. "It's a bit of a rush job, unfortunately."

"I understand, sir. I believe she will be available in about half an hour. In the meantime, please feel free to wait at the bar."

Shepard saw John hand another of those large gold coins to the bartender in exchange for a bourbon for him and a really nice scotch for Shepard. The Commander leaned against the dark polished wood of the bar and checked the sightlines and the escape routes out of the place. There was one other group of people in the bar, two humans and a salarian who were seated at a table and bent over some sort of ledger. They spoke in low tones, adding to the hushed atmosphere of the place.

He could feel Wick watching him with amusement. "Looking for exits?"

"It's a useful habit," Shepard replied. He felt a slight irritation at the question. Wick was certainly a pro, and he should know the value in keeping your guard up.

"In most places it is. But in here it's kind of a wasted effort. No business is conducted on the Continental grounds." Wick took a sip of his bourbon. "Even Cerberus won't violate that law. They ambushed Mackie and Kasumi outside the hotel on Illium."

Shepard gave a noncommittal grunt. "So what happens if somebody does violate the holy writ?"

"They go away," replied Wick.

The Commander felt a little amusement at that. "That's all? You don't put their head on a pike or something? Something medieval feels fitting for this place."

Wick smiled and actually looked a little sad. "The Organization is a bunch of bad people, for sure. But they're not sadistic."

Shepard had a goodly-sized swig of his scotch. "Well, at least they're not like Cerberus in that regard."

"I have to ask...you clearly don't like Cerberus. So why work with them at all?"

Shepard stared into his tumbler. "I have no choice, at least not right now." He looked up at the wood-paneled wall across from the bar, not really seeing it. "I saved the Council's ass, you know."

"I don't, actually."

"Heh. I'm surprised, the Alliance military's PR department made sure to spread the news far and wide. Yeah, I gave the order, right in the middle of the Battle of the Citadel. That fancy super-dreadnaught of theirs had taken a big hit from Sovereign and was in the middle of getting pecked to death by the geth. I told the Fifth Fleet to go in and get the _Destiny_ _Ascension_ out of danger. A bunch of human ships got shot to shit doing it, too."

"How many died?" Wick didn't sound judgmental, just curious.

Shepard took a breath. "Six hundred and twenty nine humans dead or missing. Of course, the _Ascension_ had about twice that in asari casualties after getting that smack from the Reaper. And the turians lost about eight hundred." He blew out a breath. "Still, it was my call. Six hundred and twenty-nine."

"There are times when I'm glad to be just a simple leg-breaker," replied Wick.

The Commander felt his teeth clench. "You wanna know the real bitch of it? I get my ass blown into space, wake up two years later, and find out that the goddamn Council has decided that the whole 'Reaper' thing is just a hysterical fable. And they're giving me, the one who gave the call to save their worthless collective ass, the hairy eyeball because Cerberus are the ones who resuscitated me. As if I had a fucking choice."

"You could just cut Cerberus out of the loop, you know," said Wick. "You've got a ship now."

Shepard looked up at Wick. The slim and bearded man actually started back a bit. The Commander knew that in the dimly-lit bar his own eyes were faintly glowing. "Not right now, I can't." He tapped his temple next to his eyes. "I have no idea how much tracking shit they've got inside me. For all I know, The Illusive Man is getting a good look at you right now through my eyes."

"Well, just in case he is..." Wick saluted Shepard with his glass.

The Spectre chuckled at that. "And I also need the Cerberus research network. Getting through the Omega-Four relay is going to take a lot of dedicated effort. And after that, I get to try and take out a race that's been around for at least a few thousand years."

"Kasumi told be a little about what the Collectors are up to," replied Wick. "I can't believe that nobody in charge is doing anything about it."

Shepard shrugged. "The colonies they hit are outside Council and Alliance space. If they do any large-scale military incursion to protect those colonies, then the Terminus Systems will take it as a provocation. Fucking politics."

"So you're going after them with one ship?" asked Wick. He sounded a little disbelieving. "That sounds like suicide."

The Commander raised an eyebrow and grinned. "Not really. The Collectors killed me once before and it just pissed me off."

Wick laughed as the bartender tapped his shoulder. "Sir? The tailor is ready for you."

* * *

Bast had saved Gabby's life on at least one occasion, but now the operative was getting on her nerves.

"You sure this is going to work?" she asked for the tenth time as Gabby checked her clipboard. The clipboard was the key to Gabby's whole outfit, the rest of which consisted of a bright orange coverall and hard hat. Bast was similarly dressed, and Gabby wondered if the taller woman's nervousness was due to the fact she was no longer dressed in chic designer suits.

"Trust me," she said to Bast. "A confident attitude and a clipboard works better than Kasumi's cloak." The engineer pulled open the access panel of the kiosk-like substation and began scanning over the fiber optic cables within.

Bast looked around. "But we're in broad daylight, in the middle of a sidewalk!" she muttered. "What if somebody asks what we're doing?"

Gabby sighed and handed her clipboard to Bast. "Just hold this and act like you're reading off a checklist to me." To her credit, Bast complied. Gabby soon found the particular bundle she was looking for. One deft cut and module insertion later, and she shut the panel with satisfaction. She took the clipboard back from Bast and made a great show of making a large check-mark on it with her stylus. "Now let's skedaddle."

"But skedaddle confidently?" asked Bast with a smile.

"You got it."

* * *

John had to suppress a grin as he watched Shepard stand awkwardly just past the inner door of the _Normandy's_ airlock. The Commander had gone with a navy blue suit which, of course, also incorporated the very finest in passive body armor.

Garrus was apparently the ship's self-appointed fashion czar, since he was first in line to meet them. He looked Shepard over and nodded his approval. "I like it. The pin-striping is nice and subtle. It's maybe a little conservative in the cut, but it does look dignified."

"Dignified? I feel like a baboon's ass." Shepard shrugged his shoulders as if constrained by a straitjacket. He pointed a thumb at John. "This guy insisted that I wear it all the way back here."

"You've got to get used to it," said John. He saw Mackie standing a little farther up the passageway and gave the young man a wink. "You need to be walking through that party like you've worn a suit your whole life."

Shepard sighed. "All right. Oh, before I forget...I need to talk to what's-her-name...Persephone? I need her involved in my little scheme to get us a few guns."

John was surprised at the little pang of fear that came over him upon hearing that. It was ridiculous, of course. Persephone could handle anything that he could. She'd been doing covert ops for longer than he'd been alive. And beside, John was going to be walking right into the belly of the beast. If anything, he was in greater danger.

But in spite of John's reasoning with himself, that little lump of fear refused to go away.

* * *

"You think you can do it?" asked Shepard. He stood next to Persephone in the hangar deck of the _Normandy_ as they both looked at the terminal display that floateed over a workbench near the entrance to the hangar.

The only other person in the hangar was off in a small makeshift gym tucked away in the hangar deck's far corner. He'd been introduced earlier as Jacob, but he'd tended to avoid John Wick and his crew. Probably because he was a Cerberus operative like Miranda. Jacob was in the middle of doing what looked to be fifteen thousand chin-ups, and the dark skin of his shirtless torso glistened with sweat.

Persephone avoided looking both at Jacob's muscled torso and at Shepard's weirdly scarred face. She concentrated instead on the picture in front of her. "Sure thing. I'll need to do some makeup to look like her. And I need some lifts, since she's taller than me. But yeah, the rest of it is no problem."

Now she did glance over at Shepard. "You'll need some makeup as well, to hide your scars."

Shepard nodded, his face neutral. "Yeah. Dr. Chakwas says they should heal up after a while, but for now I guess just covering them up should work."

There was a long moment that was filled with the distant sound of Jacob's grunting. Persephone could feel the tension between her and Shepard. She'd never confronted him to find out if he knew who she was, and he'd never given the slightest hint that he recognized her...until now, with this very long silence.

Finally Shepard spoke. "You should go visit Liara. She'll be glad to know you're alive."

Persephone laughed a bit and felt her own tension ebb. "That's supposed to be my line to you."

Shepard actually looked surprised at that. "Really?"

"I heard it straight from her mouth. She misses you."

He leaned back against the workbench and crossed his arms. "I'm glad to hear that." But he didn't sound happy.

Persephone tentatively reached out and touched his forearm. "Trust me, she's not angry at all. She told me the whole story."

He gave a dark chuckle. "Really? I didn't think she'd want to talk about something so embarrassing."

She laughed as well, but her laugh was much more sunny. "There may have been a lot of alcohol involved. I am curious, though. Why didn't you take her up on her offer? You'd just stolen a frigate, after all, so Alliance regulations were right out the window."

Shepard looked away. "It wouldn't have been right. Liara was over a hundred years old, but emotionally she was still just a damn kid. And just she'd lost her mother...fuck, she had to help _kill_ her mother. So I was willing to give her whatever emotional support she needed, but..." He trailed off.

"But no _schtupping_?" asked Persephone with a grin.

"Where the hell did you pick up that word?"

"I lived for a while in Prague. Listen, Liara understands now that you did the right thing. She's matured a hell of a lot in the last two years. She still loves you, but more like...the big sister that she never had."

Shepard smiled. "Weird. From the way she described you, I thought she felt that way about you."

She shook her head. "Nah. I was away too much. I was more the crazy-but-fun traveling aunt who kept bringing her gifts from exotic places." Persephone took one last look at the picture on the display. "Anyway, that's the last part of the plan settled. Let's do this thing."


	21. Operation

Saleem Murali's feet hurt. She looked forward to a time when she could stop doing these damn catering jobs. Especially for a rich but uncouth bastard like Donovan Hock. This party was going to be nothing but her running around with a tray and smiling warmly while putting up with getting her ass grabbed.

The asari sighed and let her feet drift in the warm and bubbling foot-bath in front of her chair. She could afford about twenty more minutes of this luxury and then she'd have to dress and get ready for the Goddess-be-damned party. Saleem stretched her arms over her head and felt her spine crackle a little as she gave a happy sigh.

There was a slight gust of air around her, and she opened her eyes. Saleem got one of the largest shocks of her life as she saw someone looming over her. That was impossible, she was in her apartment with the door locked. As she stared up at the intruder in sudden terror, she also felt some puzzlement. This intruder looked just like her; it was like staring up into a mirror.

As Saleem tried to rise she felt a slight sting in her neck. Her muscles betrayed her, and as much as she pressed downward she didn't seem able to get up out of her chair. The familiar-looking invader patted Saleem's shoulder. "Don't struggle, sister. You're perfectly safe."

After that things got odd and disjointed. She had impressions of being carried, of the faint whine of an aircar. By the time things got settled back down again she was seated in a very comfortable reclining leather chair which was in the middle of a starkly-lit room. Bright fluorescent lights buzzed above her as she stared around in a growing panic. The only other furniture was a plush leather sofa off to her right. She wasn't tied to the chair, which was the only bright spot in this whole strange and frightening episode.

Just as she was about ready to start screaming, the single door into the room opened. A human with very dark skin and a shaved head entered, pushing in front of him a rolling cart piled high with papers and books. He shut and locked the door firmly behind him and gave her a warm smile. His teeth seemed to glow in the stark lighting.

"Ms. Murali?" His voice was as pleasant as his face. "A pleasure, and my sincere apologies for having to meet in such circumstances. Please, don't bother to get up."

She sat frozen to the chair, wondering if any twitch on her part would cause some sort of retribution. The human pushed the cart closer and parked it right beside her chair. With a neat economical movement, he plucked a newspaper off of the cart and walked over to the sofa. He seated himself and opened the paper with a little flourish. He kept talking while he scanned the paper. "I tried to select reading materials that would appeal to you. Let me know if there is something specific that you would like."

Saleem focused her eyes on the cart. Actual physical books and newspapers? She felt like she'd been somehow transported into the distant past. She hesitantly wetted her lips. "What do you want from me?"

He looked up from his paper with a mild expression. "Nothing, Ms. Murali. We just ask that you remain here for a few hours."

"I have a job to get to, you know."

The human nodded with a smile. "Of course. But how would you like to earn three hundred thousand to _not_ go to that job?"

She felt a thrill in her gut. That much money would easily let her set up her own catering business and be her own boss. "Three hundred thousand...credits?"

He chuckled. "Yes, credits. All we ask is that you remain here until it is safe to leave. And if you are agreeable, we would even use your own catering services in the future."

"Who is 'we'?"

The human turned a page of his paper. "The Bekenstein Continental. I assure you that we pay quite handsomely. And our functions tend be more...civilized than those of Mr. Hock. There is much less threat of molestation, for starters."

Saleem felt the final traces of her panic subside. If she was indeed kidnapped, then her captors were certainly being polite about the whole business. She looked again at the cart. There was actually one book there that interested her, a dissertation on asari folklore which she'd been meaning to read at some point. Well, now was as good a time as any. She picked up the book and cracked it open, then leaned back into the leather-bound chair with a little smile. She read happily for a few pages, then realized something was missing. The one remaining thing that would make this perfect would be...

She cleared her throat hesitantly. "Um..."

The dark-skinned human looked up with a wry smile. "Yes, ma'am?"

"I know it seems very forward, but could we get some tea brought in?"

The human gave a genuine belly laugh at the question. "Of course, Ms. Murali. We're not _barbarians_."

* * *

John Wick stared up at the sloping walls of the Hock compound. It reminded him ever so slightly of the salarian architecture he'd seen on Sur'Kesh.

The shuttle they were in had been given a very snazzy-looking glossy black paint job as if it was somebody's private limo. The vehicle settled onto the lawn just outside the main entrance with a faint whirr. Just before the final landing, Kasumi gave the two Johns a confident smile and fizzled into invisibility.

"Showtime, I guess," muttered Shepard.

"Have a good party, gentlemen," called Bast from the front. She was dressed in a snazzy-looking outfit that matched the shuttle's appearance. She and John exchanged nods as he stepped out of the vehicle. There was a short line of people getting frisked by two guards that flanked the entrance. As they walked up the steps, Bast's aircar flew off.

It would have been more surprising for two people dealing in weapons to not be armed, and so they'd decided to each carry an 'obvious' pistol. If the security wasn't as tight as they imagined, then so much the better.

But it did turn out to be every bit as thorough as expected. One of the mercs at the door waved his omni-tool at them as they stepped forward. The guard gave a little frown and pointed at Shepard's lapel. "No weapons are permitted inside."

Shepard gave a disarming smile. They'd decided beforehand that he would be the jovial 'good cop' while Wick would be the taciturn 'bad cop'; the assassin was very good at the dead-eyed look that made it a natural fit.

"Come on, man!" Shepard said. "It's just a holdout piece." He gestured at the guard's own well-armored form. "Wouldn't do much against you guys anyway. Is that Hahne-Kedar? Nice."

"Is there a problem?" asked someone behind the guard in a clipped Afrikaans accent.

The guard started as if he'd been caught in a nefarious act. "No problem, sir. Just that these two men are armed."

"You Hock?" asked Shepard with a wide and very toothy grin. He waved a hand. "Name's Gunn. Guess the universe had a way of telling me what I should be, eh?" He laughed. "This sour-pussed fella here is my business associate, Mr. Hadlock."

Donovan Hock stepped around from behind his guard. The man was clad in a knee-length jacket that reminded Wick of a Chinese bureaucrat. He had a short, well-groomed goatee and a faintly amused look in his dark eyes. "A pleasure, Mr. Gunn. Mr. Hadlock."

Wick nodded curtly in keeping with his chosen role.

Hock shifted his eyes back to Shepard. "I'll keep your guns in very good safekeeping, gentlemen. And you've seen how well-protected my estate is. You'll be safe here, even with an army after you."

Shepard laughed. "Well, we don't have that, thank Christ. But guys in our line of work need to be careful, am I right?" With his thumb and forefinger, he pulled a medium-sized pistol out of his lapel and handed it to one of the guards. "Just treat 'er with care, eh?"

"Of course, sir," replied the guard. Wick didn't say a word as he also handed over his weapon. The other guard did a final scan and nodded to Hock.

The host's tanned face split in a wide and utterly fake smile. "Allow me to bid you welcome, gentlemen. This is your first time here for both of you, correct?" Upon Shepard's nod, Hock swept a hand towards the open doors. "Then allow me escort you in. I take any excuse to show off the fruits of my labor."

They both followed Hock up the wide steps and into a long and high-ceilinged galleria. People were clustered in small groups here and there in the large space while white-and-blue uniformed staff flitted around with trays of appetizers.

Wick also noted the guards. They were discreet but not bothering to stay hidden. All of them were as well-armored as the pair out front. That would make things very interesting if shit went down.

Hock gave some friendly waves to a few of the partygoers as he led them further along the galleria. "Mr. Gunn," he said in a thoughtful tone. "First name is Solomon, correct? You've done some weapons development in the past. The word is that you now run a small but talented band of mercs out in the Terminus systems."

"If it involves a gun, I've done a little of it," replied Shepard. "And me and my people are trying to get rid of the 'small' description."

"Onward and upward, of course," replied Hock with another fake smile. "Mr. Hadlock, I didn't expect to see you here. Everything I've found indicates you retired."

"Retirement turned out to be less fulfilling than I'd hoped," replied Wick.

Hock chuckled. "Yes, I can understand. I could stop my business dealings tomorrow and live out quite comfortably the rest of my days." He spread his arms expressively as he reached the large room at the end of the galleria. The sudden motion caused a passing waiter to bump into one of his arms, and Hock's pleasant face contorted in a snarl as he rounded on the man. "Watch your step, idiot!"

The waiter ducked his head and muttered an apology, then scuttled away.

Hock's face relaxed back into its plastic pleasantness. "But then what would I do to pass the time? Parties like these are nice, but they can get tedious after a while."

The large room at the end of the galleria was several stories tall and had multiple balconies. The floor was intricately-patterned and made of polished hardwood. Across from them was a wall of glass that overlooked a small lake. Through those windows Wick could see the setting suh, which in turn cast everything in the room in a golden light. A string quintet was seated in the center of the tall room, filling the space with soft and pleasant music.

"I imagine you're not here strictly for pleasure, are you?" asked Hock. "You mentioned something about a business venture."

"More of a business notion," replied Shepard. "Mr. Hadlock and I got to chatting once and realized there are certain gaps in current weapons technology."

"But you need capital, I'm sure," said Hock. "I am always interested in something new. But I have to look after my other guests for a while. If we get the chance to talk again I will be all ears, as they say. Enjoy the party, gentlemen." Hock gave them both a nod and another plastic smile then strolled off.

Wick and Shepard walked out of the rear of the room and out onto a huge balcony that gave a spectacular view of the sunset over the lake. Several partygoers were there They stood next to the railing and took in the sight for a few moments.

"He hides it well, doesn't he?" mused Wick.

Shepard nodded. "Yep. But the eyes always give it away. I imagine you run into a lot of sociopaths in your chosen field."

"There are days when I wonder if I'm a sociopath," said John.

"Nah." The simple declaration by Shepard made John look over in surprise. "You care," continued the Commander. "I've seen you with your team. You care for 'em." He smiled, but it wasn't a pleasant smile. "From what I've seen, you're someone who's convinced himself that he's a monster."

Wick looked back out over the lake and didn't reply. He wondered if Kasumi had been able to infiltrate in their wake. Surely they had thermal imaging to detect cloaked people? But then, she must know about such things and had the appropriate countermeasures. It was an amusing little philosophical question. What was the difference between a silent, invisible woman and a woman who wasn't there at all?

Shepard looked back into the huge room with its chatting party-goers and live music. "If this thing goes south, there's too many civilians," he muttered. "The attendees are mostly shitheads, but I didn't expect the musicians on top of the caterers."

"We do what we can. Not to mention we have someone in here who can help get them out if it comes to that."

"Care for a canapé, gentlemen?" asked one of the waitstaff. Wick turned and met Persephone's amused eyes. For once he wasn't looking down at her; the lifts in her shoes were well-done and made her almost normal in height. She was dressed in the same white-and-blue outfit as the other servers. Her makeup was first class; if he didn't know her intimately, John wouldn't have given her a second glance.

"Thanks, ma'am," said Shepard with a smile. He made a big show of plucking a fiddly-looking hors d'oeuvre off of her tray. John just about saw the other transfer take place under the tray, but only because he was looking for it.

"And you, sir?" she asked, turning to John with a twinkle in her eye. He also made a large and obvious gesture as he took one of the proffered appetizers, while under the tray her other hand slipped him his own gun.

"That little shielded case of yours worked great," she muttered to Shepard. "The guards' scans didn't even twitch."

Shepard nodded. "A little trick I picked up from a quarian friend of mine."

"You keep safe, okay?" said John to Persephone. "There's a lotta guards in here if this goes bad." He managed to get his gun stowed with a little surreptitious maneuver.

Persephone gave John another smile and moved off, but not before giving his ass a covert and completely gratuitous pinch.

Shepard munched on his appetizer and grinned at John. "Careful," he said. "You almost cracked a smile there."

* * *

After thirty minutes of idle chatter with the other attendees, the pair made their way towards the stairway to Hock's vault. There was a little alcove just before the stairs proper which gave them a secluded area to talk.

Both Johns stood awkwardly while Shepard looked around. There was no sound or hint of Kasumi. "How long should we give her?" he asked.

Wick just managed to avoid jumping at Kasumi's voice from behind them. "Such a cute pair of men. It's a pity I have to be clandestine for this shindig. I would love to make a grand entrance with both of you, one on each arm."

"Oh, no," said Shepard. "I'm wearing this monkey suit exactly once. How's the vault?"

Kasumi's voice sighed. "Altered, as I expected. Plus there's an armed guard in front of the door itself, so I'm the only one who can get near it. Looks like Hock splurged and went with an EX-700 series. It's got multiple layers of authentication, as I expected. There's the usual password protected voice lock. Plus a DNA scanner and a kinetic barrier as a final touch. Everything a vault needs to be impenetrable."

Wick smiled a little. "But that won't be a problem for you, right?"

"Of course! This is me you're talking to. We'll need to get a voice sample for the voice lock bit. You'll have to chat up Hock for that. We'll have to find the password too."

"And the DNA?" asked Shepard.

"Child's play. We should find plenty of DNA samples in Hock's private quarters."

"Oh yeah, we can just waltz right in there no problem," replied Shepard sarcastically.

Wick figured there was one piece of future-tech he needed to get a better handle on. "What about the kinetic barrier?"

"That's the one that worries me," said Kasumi. "Once we bypass the voice and DNA it will shut off as well and let us in. But then Hock could turn the barrier back on at any time and trap us inside the vault. So we'll have to move fast."

"Or we cut its power," said Shepard. "Is the barrier's generator on-site?"

"Nope. I'm still tracing it, but it looks like the barrier is powered by hard-lines direct from the city. The line is encased in steel and concrete, so we can't just cut them. Hock may have a kill-switch for those lines here in the manor, but flipping that switch will certainly let the guards know that something is wrong. Bypassing any monitors on the switch itself might be dicey. I won't know until I see it."

Shepard looked grim. "The guard at the vault door. Will he be a problem?"

Kasumi's voice regained its confidence. "Nope. When we're ready I'll make him go sleepy-bye."

Wick rubbed his jaw. "So that's our choices. We either go in covertly and risk getting trapped, or we go in with alarms sounding."

Shepard shrugged. "We did plan for that case. But let's find out first before we decide. You brought our earpieces?" He held out a hand, and suddenly three small transparent buds appeared in his palm. The two Johns had avoided wearing them while walking in, since the guns would be suspicious enough.

John set his earpiece in place. "Check check."

"Loud and clear," replied Shepard subvocallly. It sounded nice and loud in John's ear.

"I hear you both as well," said Kasumi. "So what do we tackle first?"

Shepard pondered the question. "We've got multiple people here, so we should assign tasks." He looked at Wick with a raised eyebrow. "Any strike your fancy?"

"I'll do the DNA," said Wick. "Getting into those quarters unseen should be easy."

"If you say so. I'm doing the schmoozer role, so I'll handle getting Hock's voice sample and the password if I can. I'll also pass Persephone her earpiece. Kasumi, you scout around and see if you can find that kill switch and what its alarms look like. We all keep in touch and the three of us meet back here in thirty minutes regardless."

"Right-o," said her voice. Without another word Shepard and Wick split up.

John Wick walked back out onto the balcony and took a look back at Hock's mansion. The location of the man's own quarters was obvious from the outside; there were huge panoramic windows at one corner about half-way up. The sloping sides of the mansion had little in the way of handholds or concealment. If he tried going up the outside, he would be spotted immediately.

So going upstairs would have to be done inside. Now that he thought about it, he'd seen a couple of elevators that might give him what he needed.

John strolled back inside. Off of the main 'galleria' there were several more cozy rooms, most of which had bookshelves. Hock had not struck John as a reader, so these were probably for show. As he scouted he found the elevator. Fortunately, there was no guard stationed in front of it. Unfortunately, he found out why as he casually sidled up to it. The elevator was quite firmly locked, and John was sure that if it moved the guards in the main security room would know.

"Mackie, do you read?" he said softly.

The fixer's voice sounded cheerfully in his ear. "Loud and clear, boss. Whatcha need?"

"I have an elevator that needs hacking. Get Gabby on it if you need to."

"Okay. Can you give me a scan of the elevator door?"

John managed to do so while making it look like he was checking his omni-tool for messages. He still felt a little clunky about using the holographic device; his fingers kept expecting to encounter something solid and didn't.

"Got it!" said Mackie. "Okay, sit tight and let me see what I can come up with..."

* * *

Donovan Hock gave Shepard a smile. He was standing next to one of the huge windows overlooking the lake and sipping on something that looked brown and very expensive. For his own part, Shepard was sticking with ginger ale. He'd managed to slip Persephone an earpiece of her own just before heading over to 'schmooze' with Hock.

"Mr. Gunn, I hope you're having a good time. I apologize again for the slight unpleasantness when you arrived."

Shepard shrugged. "Not a big deal. I am impressed with your security set-up. But it's gotta cost you a boatload every month in salaries. And after all, who would dare try to break into Donovan Hock's home?"

Hock laughed. "Solomon, in our line of work we attract a certain element, do we not?"

Shepard matched his laugh. "Yeah, I gotta few people who wouldn't mind if I just went away."

"In my case, it is sadly more than a few." Hock waved at the lake outside. "I love having a view of the water, but I could not simply buy a mansion by the beach. It was too unsafe, too exposed. So I had to have this lake made on my own property. It cost a boatload, as you would say, but it was worth it. Now I can have my water view and also my safety."

Shepard toasted the view with his glass. "It sure is pretty. I just wish ya didn't have to be so careful. Folks should understand that what we do is just business."

"Exactly! People call us violent and cruel, but those same people don't understand the pains that we take to keep the barbarians at bay. People these days want comfort, entertainment, love. They don't see that the galaxy is fragile. They only have to worry about simple luxuries. Why? Because people like us are doing the terrible things that keep the galaxy spinning."

"Yeah, I've been called a lotta nasty stuff," said Shepard. "A lotta people don't wanna hear about how the sausage gets made."

Hock nodded. "Which is why I have these functions. Our kind deserve a measure of luxury. This party is for us. The cleaners. The support structure for the galaxy's gleeful delusion of peace. May there always be a market for the things we do!"

Hock had acquired a little gaggle of onlookers by this point in his speechifying. He raised a glass in general to the room and got a polite round of applause.

Shepard figured that would be enough of a voice sample for Kasumi to work on, so he just nodded and made ready to leave only to be buttonholed by Hock.

"You never did tell me about your new business," said the arms dealer.

Shepard sighed internally and launched into his prepared spiel. "It's a new type of mortar system. Nowadays mortar rounds are all 'smart' and stuff and all ya have to do it get it generally in the right area to score a hit. But that hardware can be hacked. So we've got an idea for a new system which uses 'dumb' rounds but also has proprietary alignment software on the mortar tube itself. It's almost as easy to use as the current 'smart' systems but a lot less prone to bein' messed with."

"Interesting. What kind of tests have you performed?"

* * *

There was a guard outside of Hock's apartments, which showed just how paranoid the man was. But Hock wasn't quite paranoid enough, since there was only the one guard.

John drew his head back around the corner and out of sight. He was a little uncertain as to how to proceed. He could take the man out, but the guard might have to call in every so often. Failure to check in would raise the very alarm they were trying to prevent.

The man leaned against a wall, looking bored and half-asleep. As John watched the guard's head nodded forward and then jerked up as the man gave a grunt of annoyance. Then the guard's head went down again and stayed down. John figured that this was as good as it was going to get, and stalked forward.

He got right next to the man when a sound pinned him to the spot. Then he relaxed as he realized the sound was actually a snore; the guard was out like a light. John shrugged mentally and ghosted past the guard and through the door beyond.

With a little muttered instruction from Kasumi, John managed to find a few small items that would certainly carry enough of Hock's DNA. He peeked around the edge of the door before exiting, and saw that the guard was still doing his best _Sleeping Beauty_ impression.

John smiled to himself as he silently made his way back to the elevator. Sometimes it was better to be lucky than good.

* * *

The three of them reconvened near the vault stairway.

"DNA is taken care of," said John, and held out his finds. They vanished from his hands as Kasumi claimed them.

"Yes, these should work," said the thief. "And Shepard got enough of a voice sample from Hock. Now all we need is the password. I'll shadow the guards and see if I can find out about that."

"What about the power lines?" asked Shepard.

"No joy. I did find the kill switch, but it's inside the central control room. My scans indicate there's at least three people in there right now, and if we run in and shoot 'em that _will_ trigger an alert."

"Maybe we're going about this all wrong," mused John. "We don't all have to go into the vault. Maybe I could be a contingency."

"Let me guess," said Kasumi. "You station yourself near the control room, then shoot your way in and shut off the barrier if we run into trouble."

"I like it," said Shepard. "But I should be the one outside the control room. Kasumi, you know what we're looking for. Wick, you're the ancient weapons expert. Just in case you do get assaulted, you'll at least have some backup weaponry."

"But that leaves you to attack and then hold a heavily guarded control room with one damn pistol," said John.

"I'll manage," said Shepard with a smile.

John shook his head. "Don't get cocky. At least take my spare thermal clips."

* * *

After splitting up again, John tried to relax and mingle. There would be plenty of stress in a while, and he should simply enjoy the music and general good mood.

After about twenty minutes, Kasumi's voice sounded in his ear. "Got it. That bastard Hock has a sense of humor. His password is 'Peruggia', which is the name of the man who stole the Mona Lisa."

"Nice," replied Shepard. "I've got my spot picked, so whenever you guys want to make your move feel free. Persephone, are you ready to rock and roll?"

"I am," she replied. "Let me know if you need help when you attack the control room."

"Nope," said the Commander. "If the balloon goes up, you get the waitstaff and the musicians evacced."

"Will do," said the asari. "And if I get a chance I may deal out some payback. There's one of the guests who keeps grabbing my ass."

"Which one?" asked John. One of the other attendees glanced over at John and flinched upon seeing his expression.

"Now, now, honey," said Persephone with an amused air. "I'm a big girl and can fight my own battles. Go do your thing."

"Right," muttered John as he began strolling back towards the stairwell to the vault.

He was brought up short by Hock's cheerful voice from behind him. "Mr. Hadlock! Good, I finally found you. I ran into someone who's an old acquaintance of yours!"

John felt a little cold sensation in his stomach. This was not going to be good. He turned and managed to keep his face impassive when he saw who the 'old acquaintance' was. "Hello," he said to the man standing next to Hock.

It was a very familiar-looking man, with dead eyes and a sharklike smile.

"How's it hanging, Mr. Hadlock?" asked Kai Leng.


	22. Collection

John Wick gave the newcomer an equally humorless smile. "I must say, I didn't expect to see you here," he said.

Now that Hock had introduced them, the host was already moving off while chatting with another partygoer. Kai Leng watched him depart, then moved his eyes back to John. "Well, I was just in the neighborhood, and I thought I'd stop by."

Mackie's voice sounded in John's ear. "Who is it? That voice...fuck, is that _him_?" The young man's voice took on an edge of panic.

"I got line of sight on Leng," said Kasumi. "Give the word and I'll drop him like a bad habit."

"No way, he's mine," growled Persephone.

"Everyone, stand down," said Shepard in a commanding tone that John knew well from his time in the military. "He's a Cerberus operative, and this is a mission that's supporting Cerberus. He's not about to go fucking things up."

Leng had a glass of white wine in his hand, and he gave John a smirk as he took a sip. "Is everybody freaking out in your ear?" he asked. "Please give my regards to little Mackie."

John gave Leng his Smile Number Two, which was his _I will eat your liver sometime soon_ smile. "What do you want?"

"You and your little friends. Ms. Lawson keeps making the case that my group needs to become more open and 'heroic', whatever that means. So in that spirit, rather than just retire you when you least expect it, I'm here in person to tell you that your days are numbered."

John leaned back casually. "Everybody's days are numbered. It's just a question of when your number comes up."

"How the fuck did he know we were here?" snarled Mackie. "Did Lawson spill the beans?"

Leng raised his hand and took another gulp of wine. "Oh, and just in case Shepard's listening in he can rest assured that Miranda was a good little XO and didn't tell a soul."

John sipped his own ginger ale and didn't respond.

Leng tilted his head. "Nothing to say?"

"When I've got something to say you'll know it."

John relaxed further while picturing the moves he'd have to make to get his gun out. If Leng made the wrong twitch, he was perfectly ready to blow the bastard's head off and just kick off the whole mess off right here and now.

Instead of twitching, Leng just nodded and gave John a final smile. He strolled off casually and vanished in the milling partygoers.

Kasumi's voice sounded ever so slightly shaky. "If that bastard is done being dramatic, then let's get going. The sooner we're out of this damned place the better."

* * *

True to her word, the guard was out cold but didn't appear to be otherwise harmed. He was propped up against one dark metal wall of the vault entrance. Kasumi wavered into visibility as she fiddled with the vault controls. The vault door was smaller than John expected, only about the size of a standard double door and with a dark metal handle projecting from one side.

"Welcome," said an artificial but feminine voice. "Please identify."

In response Kasumi put a little block of material onto a blank section next to the keypad.

"Thank you, Mr. Hock. Please authenticate."

Kasmui held up her omni-tool and Hock's voice said "Perrugia'."

"Thank you. Authentication accepted."

The vault door clicked. John gripped the handle and the door swung open on jeweled bearings. Kasumi flitted into the space beyond as John followed.

The vault itself was huge, as he expected. But he hadn't expected it to look so structured. It reminded him of an English garden. From Kasumi's dismissal of Hock as a 'hoarder', John half-expected the vault contents to just be haphazardly piled around.

But there were, instead, four aisles running parallel to each other and away from the door. Each aisle had marble blocks spaced out along the length of the aisle. The piece on top of each block was labeled with a neat hand-lettered sign. John took a quick scan of the vault and saw a room towards the center with transparent walls. He could see from here the weaponry lining the walls.

"You know where the graybox might be?" asked John.

Kasumi shook her head. "I'm guessing towards the rear right, but that's a guess."

"I'll detour to the weapons and check 'em over, you look for the box," said John. "I want to be ready to use them, just in case."

The thief nodded and moved silently along the aisle. John followed behind her, admiring her stealth. He knew something about moving silently, enough to know that Kasumi was top-notch.

She broke that silence, stopping suddenly and giving a 'hmph' of surprise. "I don't believe it!" Next to her on one of the marble plinths was a few sheets of loose notebook paper and some sort of orange writing implement. "This is the original copy of the Shanxi cease-fire, at the end of the First Contact War. Complete with what they used to sign it."

John gave it a cursory glance, then did a double-take as he realized what the writing implement was. "They used a _pencil_ to sign a cease-fire?"

Kasumi gave a sad chuckle. "Well, the garrison was in pretty desperate shape by then. It was probably all they had on hand." She shook her head. "This has been missing for ages. Everybody thought it was just lost in the trash somewhere. Anyway, let's keep going."

Fortunately, the smaller 'cage' that held the antique weapons didn't have any further security to bypass. But it did have a little airlock, and as John cycled through it he could hear the hiss of air into the cage beyond. He figured that the weapons must normally be kept under inert gas. Hopefully at least a few would still be in working order.

He stepped into the cage and looked over Hock's collection with a critical eye. The bastard did seem to have a pretty thorough selection here. He ignored the pistols for the moment and instead focused on the shotguns first. They were the least 'fiddly' in terms of firing mechanism and were the most likely to be still operational. He plucked a nice-looking Benelli off of its wall mount and checked it out with practiced fingers. He pronounced himself pleased and looked around for the ammunition.

After a short while John had a good-sized pile of checked and loaded weaponry. He headed off to find Kasumi, leaving party favors behind him in strategic locations as he walked. The thief was staring at an unmarked marble plinth, on top of which was a small gray package. It was no bigger than a deck of cards and sported a small splatter of blood on one corner.

She didn't move, not even after John walked up beside her and set down the Benelli. It was a stupid question, but he had to ask. "Is that it?"

Kasumi slowly nodded. "I don't see any tripwires or pressure sensors. I'm almost afraid to touch it, though. The last remains of Keiji. I can't shake the feeling that it'll pop like a soap bubble...oh, screw it. Let's get it and get out."

She reached forward and grabbed it. The graybox didn't evaporate in her hand, but there was a loud and painful wail in John's ear.

* * *

Shepard grunted a little in surprise at the noise but kept his easy grin on his face as he leaned easily against a pillar. From this position, he estimated that he could reach the security center door in less than five seconds. He uncrossed his feet and got ready to move. This might just be a communications glitch...

"Sir?" The voice was quiet and professional, and its owner was clearly ready for Shepard to try something.

He kept the casual smile on his face and turned. "Yeah?"

Five guards stood in a semicircle, just out of hand-to-hand combat range. The leftmost guard was the only one with his hand on a holster, but the others held themselves as if they'd launch at him with the slightest provocation. They were armored, but not wearing helmets. That was probably to keep from freaking out the party guests around them.

The guard on the left flicked his eyes up and down Shepard. "Mr. Hock would like to speak with you."

* * *

"Shit," muttered Persephone. She could see Shepard across the way and getting braced by the guards. The asari scanned the room in less than a second. There were three waitstaff in possible danger if it came to a firefight. The nearest was only a few steps away, so she took the opportunity to slip in next to the human and mutter "Get lost," into his ear. "Tell the others."

He looked at her in surprise. Persephone jerked her head at Shepard, then out towards the kitchen area. He nodded and sidled off with remarkable speed, pulling one of the others in the danger zone along with him.

That left one to worry about, but she wasn't going to try anything until Shepard made his move.

Her earpiece crackled back into life, and Hock's voice sounded in her ear. "Ah, there's the frequency. Greetings, my unexpected guests."

* * *

John looked up towards the vault door. A huge hologram of Hock's head now floated in the space above the exit, and the man's ever-present smile was now a triumphant leer. "Ms. Goto! So good to see you again. I've activated a shield in the doorway to make sure you stay and take full advantage of my hospitality."

"Rot in hell, you bastard," grated Goto. Her hooded eyes were locked on Hock's hologram. "You certainly haven't lost any of your ego, judging by how big you like to make yourself."

Hock's image gave her an ironic little bow. "I am very aware of my own shortcomings, Kasumi. But one thing I am not is stupid. I suspected that 'Mr. Gunn' was actually Shepard. It certainly looked like him. So I had my guards take a few photos. Our face-recognition VI identified him for certain..."

John rolled his eyes. "Yes, yes, you're very clever. What do you want?" He was getting real tired of dealing with bloviating idiots. First Leng, now this asshole.

Hock just kept right on talking. "Ah! And then of course there is the mysterious Mr. Hadlock. The VI came up empty in your case. But your 'associate' Mr. Leng told me that you are a person of great interest to Cerberus. I'm sure they'll pay me handsomely for you. Even for your corpse..."

As the guy yammered on John looked around. There was a painting on the plinth opposite the graybox, and he nudged Kasumi. "Is that expensive?" he murmured to her while he pointed at the painting.

"Priceless," she murmured back.

"Right." John marched off towards the exit, searching for one exhibit in particular. He noted that, just as Hock had said, there was a blue shimmer of a shield over the exit. John smiled as he found what he was looking for, retrieved one particular piece of the artifact, and walked back towards Kasumi.

Hock's meandering trailed off as John re-approached the thief. "What are you doing?"

John grabbed the painting from its easel. He looked it over briefly. The painting showed some sort of still-life of flowers or lilies, he couldn't quite tell. It was a little too blurry and impressionistic for his tastes.

"Wait!" yelled Hock. "Don't..."

John gripped the pencil used to sign the Shanxi cease-fire and scribbled 'GET ON WITH IT' in big block letters over the painting. He held it out towards Hock's image. "Get the message, sunshine?" he asked.

The man stared in shock for a few moments, then his face hardened. "Fine. Shepard, I know you can hear me. You've got a choice. You can walk away now and leave your minions here. I can probably fetch a good price for them. Or you come quietly and I'll let them go. You'll be worth even more, especially once I figure out how a dead man was brought back to life."

* * *

Shepard took a deep breath as he smiled at the guards. This ability was still something he was getting used to, and he'd only get one chance to activate it. He hoped that Hock still had his earpiece connected with his team members.

"Plan B, Wick," he said, and went into accelerated time.

The guard on the left must have seen a flicker of movement, because he started to draw. Shepard could see the man's hand begin to ever-so-slowly tug at his gun-handle, and the gun began to rise out of the holster as if mired in molasses.

Everything in Shepard's vision was sharp and clear, like he was viewing the world through crystal. He pulled his own weapon and chose his shots. There were party-goers behind his assailants, and while they were certainly assholes they probably didn't deserve to get shot. Probably.

The first shot went through the leftmost guard's head. The others were just barely starting to react, and for his next shot Shepard chose the one who had reacted the most. Then it was a simple matter of working his way between the guards, shooting whoever showed the most reaction to what was going on. By the time he'd finished, the first guard hadn't even cleared his gun out of his holster and his head was still spreading apart in a balloon of blood and bone.

Shepard snapped back into real time, and five bodies fell backwards as the screaming started. He spun and locked his eyes on the door to the security center. It slid open and two men came barreling out, both armored and this time wearing helmets.

One of them managed to raise his gun just as Shepard reached them. He snapped a knife-hand up below the man's chin-strap and into his throat. The cybernetically-enhanced blow crushed the guard's larynx instantly. As the dying man gagged, his partner managed to get his own pistol up and fire it into Shepard's side.

It felt like he'd been rabbit-punched by a krogan. Shepard grunted in pain and threw out a side-kick that smashed into the gut of his would-be shooter. The man's armor was proof against bullets, but not blunt force trauma. The guard collapsed backwards with a wheeze.

"Shut the damn door!" yelled somebody from inside the security center. The door started to slide shut, and it was just out of Shepard's reach. So he grabbed his still-gagging first victim and pushed him into the doorway, stopping the sliding door in its tracks.

Shepard vaulted over the body and into the room beyond. He slid to a crouch behind a console as a shot sparked off of it. He rolled out into the clear and took quick aim. Two more shots, two more dead men. He kept rolling and made it behind a storage locker.

"Call the police! Get them out here now!" Hock's voice sounded out as more shots ricocheted off of the storage locker. He sounded like he was on a speaker; the bastard probably wasn't in here. That was a pity, mused Shepard. It would have made this so much simpler. He leaned out and shot the remaining two guards.

He walked over and pulled the guard's body out of the way to let the door close. Shepard took stock of his side. The suit's fabric was torn, but the armoring underneath didn't even look scratched. "Noice," he muttered. "Very noice." Then he looked at the many control consoles around him. "Now...if I was a shield power switch, where would I hide?"

* * *

"Plan B, Wick," said Shepard's voice into John's ear. John brought the Benelli up to his shoulder as the shield over the doorway winked out. Kasumi faded into invisibility at the same time.

Multiple armored forms poured into the room and the shield snapped back into existence behind them. Wick wondered briefly if he should have first chosen with a longer-range weapon, then aimed at the guard in front and fired. The Benelli worked like a dream, and as John ejected the first shell the old familiar smell of gunpowder and cordite hit his nostrils.

"I really missed this smell," he muttered, and kept shooting as he ran forward. He slid to a stop and crouched behind one of the marble bases. He leaned out and emptied the Benelli into the doorway, creating a milling confusion of men trying to take cover and blue sparking shields. It was clear that the guards had expected him to have a pistol at best.

John threw the Benelli aside with a little pang of regret. It really was a beautiful shotgun. He reached up to the top of the marble block and fetched the AK-47 he'd stashed there. The other operatives of the Organization might look down their nose at such a 'peasant-like' weapon, but John was looking for reliability at the moment instead of style.

And reliability was something the Kalashnikov had in spades. The gun chattered its automatic fire as if it had been shot only yesterday instead of hundreds of years ago. John slipped forward like a wraith, using the rifle to keep the guard's heads down while he moved closer.

He never caught so much as a glimpse of Kasumi. The only way he knew she was there was when the left-most guard suddenly went down and began twitching as if he'd been hit with a taser. The others turned and began firing blindly at empty space, which in turn gave John plenty of opportunity to get some placed shots in and take down a few more.

As the AK ran dry John made a leaping forward roll to fetch up underneath another base. There was another of his emplaced guns there, a beautiful little M4 carbine that had been nicely kitted out. John felt a presence behind him, and somehow knew it was not Kasumi. He dodged back just as a shot took out a chunk of marble where his head had been.

John swung his carbine over, but the man was close enough to block the barrel with his hand. John flowed around the block and got an armbar on the guard, then used the leverage to smash the man's helmet into the corner of the marble. The man bounced bonelessly and rolled; the helmet had kept his skull together, but hadn't prevented him from getting knocked out. John put a couple of shots into the guard's relatively unarmored neck to make sure, then leaned out from cover to keep adding to the carnage.

* * *

The front of Hock's compound was now a flowing river of screaming people. Persephone brought up the rear; apart from the corpses of guards, there was nobody left on the ground floor. She'd also made sure that the catering staff had been pointed at the service entrance, and they'd taken the offered exit with all possible speed.

"I don't see Hock," she murmured as she pretended to limp behind the panicked crowd.

"He wasn't in the control room," said Shepard's voice. "Wick, how are you doing?"

"Hang on," said John's robotic voice. There was a faint crunching sound in Persephone's ear. "That's the last one. Kasumi?"

"All good, and I've still got the graybox."

Shepard sounded a little uncertain. "Okay, I think I found the right switch for the vault shield. How about this?"

"No, that's the power switch for the lights in here." replied John.

"Ah. Okay, how about now?"

"That's got it," said Kasumi.

Persephone staggered forward down the steps, and had almost made it to ground level before Hock grabbed her arm.

* * *

Donovan Hock was having absolutely the worst day of his life. His things, his precious _things_ , were now right in the middle of a running gun-battle. His expensive guards had been cut down like so much gutter trash from Omega. And the police were, so far, a no-show. One of the caterers, an asari, was hobbling down the steps. He ran up and grabbed her arm. "Is there anybody left in there?" he demanded.

She gave him a panicked look. "I'm not sure about the guests, sir, but I think the staff all got out."

Hock growled and let go of her arm. "Fuck the staff!" He looked into the sky. "Where the hell are they?"

The asari pointed. "There, sir."

A couple of tiny dots in the sky grew and expanded into a pair of shuttles painted in the blue-and-green livery of the Bekenstein police. The panicked guests calmed a bit at the sight of the law arriving, and dutifully cleared an area so that they could land. Most of the guests continued to stream towards the exits, but there were a few curious stragglers who stopped near the main gate to watch. The asari caterer began to sidle off as well.

"No," snapped Hock. "I need you here, in case they have questions for you."

The asari stopped, but from her expression she was clearly close to an emotional collapse.

The shuttles settled to the ground, and their doors slid open to reveal a turian and a human in each shuttle. The figures were all clad in fully-covering police armor and featureless helmets of the same blue-green color scheme as the shuttles. The four jogged up to Hock, who stood at the base of the steps and stared in disbelief.

"FOUR?" screamed Hock. "You just sent four people? Where's Van der Meer? I pay for concierge service, damn it!"

The lead of the group was a turian, and gave Hock a quick nod. "I understand, sir. Van der Meer is on his way, and we were the closest responders. More are coming, I assure you. What is the situation?"

"The situation? My life's work is currently in the hands of barbarians, that's the _fucking_ situation!" Little flecks of spittle from Hock's shouting sprayed onto the smooth and faceless front of the turian's helmet.

The turian's voice remained smooth and calming. "How many perpetrators?"

Hock stared off into space. That calming voice...his brain was starting to work again, and he realized he'd heard the turian's voice before. "Three. One's taken over the security center, two are in the vault."

The turian turned to regard the asari caterer, who hovered nearby with wringing hands. "And you, ma'am? Are you injured?"

"I just turned my ankle. It'll be okay."

"Did you see any of the perpetrators?"

She ran a trembling hand along her crest. "Just the one who took over the security center. You need to be careful. He's fast, really fast."

"All right." The turian pointed at the farther shuttle. "Please wait in there. We'll have a couple more questions, and then we'll get your ankle taken care of."

As she limped towards the shuttle the policeman turned back to Hock. "Sir, we're going to do an initial sweep. It will be safer for you if you also wait in one of our vehicles." The turian gestured at the closer shuttle. "They're well-armored."

Hock glared at the turian. "I'm not going anywhere, this is my house. I'm coming along on the sweep." He reached into his jacket and pulled out a pistol. His suspicions were rising. He had _definitely_ heard this turian's voice before, and it had nothing to do with police work. That voice had something to do with that bastard Shepard, that much he was certain of.

The turian's voice maintained that smooth, unruffled tone. "Now sir, you're not armored. And you are rightfully emotional about what's happened, but that is not a good mind-state for taking on these perpetrators."

Hock stared for a moment at the turian's featureless helmet. "Take off your helmet."

"Sir, this is really not constructive and we need to begin that sweep ASAP..."

Hock pointed the gun at the turian's helmet. "Take off your helmet. I know your voice."

The four police all froze, then the turian shrugged. "If you prefer." He reached up and began to unlatch his helmet.

Hock relaxed slightly, and at that motion the other turian kicked out towards Hock's gun-hand. It was a fast and efficient kick, but the man was already amped up and suspicious. He dropped his arm, turned slightly, and fired a shot at his attacker.

As befitted an arms smuggler, Hock's pistol was top of the line. The police hadn't activated their shields, and so the bullet punched through the armor of his attacker's leg. The turian gave a pained grunt and collapsed, and Hock sprinted back up the steps while spraying fire behind him.

* * *

Shepard was glad to hear his old friend's voice again. However, what Garrus was saying was not so good. "Shit. John? Hock smelled a rat. He's coming back in."

"Righty-ho," replied Shepard as he finished smashing the last control console to bits. The security room's thick door slid open as he did so; the destruction must have triggered a safety feature.

The commander walked to the corner and carefully edged his head around. He saw John Wick's dark-suited form edge up out of the tunnel leading to Hock's vault. There was no sign of Kasumi, of course.

Wick ducked back down as a bullet sparked off of a column next to him.

Hock's voice called out. "I'm going to kill all of you!"

Shepard smiled to himself. Brave talk for one man with only one gun and no armor. He edged his whole body out and around the corner, looking back towards the main entrance. Shepard scanned carefully and saw a flicker of movement behind a large potted plant.

"I got him," said Wick.

"Me too," said Shepard. "Howzabout on the count of three? One, two..."

On 'three' a fusillade of shots hit the pot that Hock was using as cover. Shepard saw the flickering blue of an emergency shield snap into place, and Hock charged out and ran diagonally across the main corridor. The smuggler sprayed bullets up towards the two of them as he ran.

Shepard was leaning out a little too far to try to aim his shots, because as he did so one of Hock's bullets bounced off of his arm. It threw his aim off enough for Hock to get to an alcove. As Shepard ran forward, he saw Hock slip into a door within the alcove and saw the man running away as the door slid shut.

He looked down at his arm as Wick jogged up to him. The bullet had torn away the sleeve's fabric, but once more the armor underneath looked unblemished.

Shepard grinned at the assassin. "I changed my mind. I _love_ this suit!"

Wick smiled and nodded. "Hock?"

"Went through that door there. I say we leave him and get going."

"I agree," said Kasumi as she appeared beside Wick. "I don't think many will be accepting party invitations from him after this."

Wick tossed aside the odd antique gun he'd been using. It was probably worth several years' salary to most people. "You sure you don't want to keep that?" asked Shepard.

The assassin shook his head. "Nah. No ammo left for it, and I'm not much of a collector."

The trio jogged for the entrance.

* * *

Outside, the four 'police' had removed their helmets. Cammy sat on the ground while Mackie and Persephone tended to her leg. Garrus and Bast were keeping watch on the two or three onlookers remaining.

"That little bareface was fast," said Cammy. "Did ya kill him?"

"Didn't get the chance," said Shepard. "We should be offski. Garrus, you got the other shuttle?"

Garrus did not like the sound of that question, because it implied something that still gave him night-sweats. He gave his human friend a look that was the turian equivalent of a raised eyebrow. "And who's piloting the other one? Cammy's out of commission."

"I can do that," said Bast.

"Nah, I got it," replied Shepard with a sunny smile.

Garrus' concern deepened at that smile. "Really, John, I don't know if...oh dear."

Shepard had by now clambered up into the farther shuttle and seated himself in the pilot's seat. Cammy got loaded in next, and her two tenders jumped in as well, followed by Kasumi. The door slid shut and the shuttle began to rise.

"What's wrong with Shepard piloting?" asked Bast.

Garrus remembered many, many harrowing times in the Mako. "Well, Shepard is a better pilot than he is a driver. But that's a low bar to clear." He shook his head. "All right, let's get going."

He and Bast hopped in the remaining shuttle, with Wick following. The assassin slid the door shut as their craft took off and began to follow Shepard's' shuttle.

* * *

"How's she doing?" Shepard called into the back of the shuttle.

"I'll live," replied Cammy. "But I'm not gonna be dancing any time soon."

"Eh, dancing is overrated," said Shepard. He allowed himself to relax a little. Kasumi sprawled herself into the co-pilot's seat and looked even more relaxed.

"Congratulations," she said. "You've got yourself a thief for however long you need her." She gave the commander a thoughtful look. "Unless the mighty Shepard doesn't stoop to stealing things."

"Depends on what it's for," replied Shepard. "And I can already think of a few area where we'll need your skills. Our ship is still more-or-less a prototype, so spare parts are always going to be a problem."

"That sounds like fun," said Kasumi. She smiled and looked out the window.

Shepard glanced down at the radar display and his good mood evaporated. "Shit on toast."

Kasumi sat up. "What?" She followed Shepard's gaze to the the display and leaned closer. "That can't be right. What's a gunship doing behind us...?" Then the penny dropped. "Oh, no."

Shepard punched open a channel to the other shuttle. "Garrus, watch your ass. Hock is on our tail."


	23. Ambition

Bast cursed as she slid the shuttle's door open. "Why don't we have weapons on this damn thing?"

Garrus looked back over his shoulder at the two Organization operatives as they leaned out into the slipstream. "We didn't think we'd need them! The Bekenstein police don't arm their shuttles anyway!"

John gripped the nearest seatbelt like an impromptu safety strap and squinted into the wind. Hock's gunship was a bristly, wasp-like shape that was just visible in the distance. With his free hand he pulled out the gun that Persephone had slipped him during the party. He aimed as carefully as he could.

"Why isn't he shooting?" yelled Bast, just as a few spears of light stabbed towards them from the gunship.

John managed to hang on as Garrus jinked the shuttle out of the way of Hock's gunfire. He brought his gun back on target and fired off a few rounds on general principle. He saw a couple of his shots hit home but spark harmlessly off of the gunship's superior armor.

"Shit," he muttered, and pulled himself back in. Bast got in a few shots of her own before cursing as well and sliding the door closed.

"Nothing we have on board will scratch that fucking thing," she snapped. "What do we do _ooooohhhshiiiit_ -"

John's stomach did a whoopsy-do as Garrus dropped the nose of the shuttle and raced for the ground. Another few laser-like tracers arced through the space where they'd just been. "We'll try to lose him," said the turian. "That gunship is faster, but we're just as agile."

"Hang on, Garrus, we're coming back to help you," said Shepard's voice from the console in front of the turian.

"Get that graybox to safety, John," replied Garrus. "We can take care of ourselves."

"Glad to see somebody's confident," muttered Bast. Both she and John strapped themselves into two of the rear seats. They'd done so just in time, because Garrus suddenly rolled the shuttle up to the right as the smoke-trail of a missle shot past.

"Not getting hit by a missile again, no sir," Garrus muttered...just as the entire shuttle shook with a loud bang from the left rear. "Oh, spirits."

"Is that bad?" yelled John over the rattling that now filled the shuttle's interior.

Bast nodded. "Left rear thruster, probably got tagged by a stray shot."

Garrus didn't waste time in cursing, he just clung to the controls like grim death and tried to bring the shuttle back under control. With the thruster gone, the craft kept yawing hard to the right. And the trees below were getting ever closer.

"Um, maybe we could-" began Bast, just as another bang sounded. This time it was from their right rear.

"Well, that tears it," said Garrus. He sounded only mildly peeved in spite having just lost his engines. "Crash positions, you two."

The trees that John could see through the front windscreen were now at their own height. There was a huge *clang* as they smacked into a tree-top, and the blow made the shuttle tumble to the right. That was quickly followed by a series of loud, percussive strikes on their hull as they tore through more trees. It felt like they were inside of a tin can being pounded on by giants.

Somehow Garrus was able to still control their descent. John had a brief moment of wonder at the turian's piloting skills before the ground reached up and smacked the shuttle hard in the nose.

* * *

John picked up his head. The whole shuttle was jammed headfirst into the ground like a carelessly-thrown dart, and the inside was canted at a shallow angle. He could just make out a strip of sky through the top of the windscreen outside; their impact had thrown up a huge pile of dirt that now covered most of the shuttle's nose.

Garrus was crumpled in the pilot's seat, and as John began to unbuckle himself the turian raised his head with a groan. "Well, that hurt _almost_ as much as taking a missile to the face," said the turian.

"You okay?" gasped John.

"Yeah, I'll live. But I think my foot's broken. I'm not walking very far, that's for sure."

John turned his head. "Bast?"

The silver-haired operative gave a groan of her own. "Broken arm on one side and a snapped clavicle on the other. At least, that's what it feels like." She looked over at John and gave a pained smile. "And I bit my lip. Sorry, John. I'm not gonna be worth much. How are you?"

John felt like he'd been beaten with bats, but he was functional. His strengthened skeletal system had kept him from getting too badly injured. "Doing okay," he said aloud.

Bast sounded genuinely curious. "Why aren't you more hurt?"

John gave a weak chuckle. "When we get out of this, I'll give you Dr. Jelan's number." He unbuckled his restraints and managed to control his slide forward down the shuttle's sloping floor. He braced himself against the pilot's console as he and Garrus peered out of the little bit of windscreen that wasn't covered by earth. The wasp-waisted form of the gunship cruised overhead and did a single circle, then darted off out of sight.

Garrus reached for the console with a little pained grunt. "John? Hock forced us down. Looks like he's going for you."

"Got it," replied the Spectre's voice. "You okay?"

"As good as ever," replied the turian. "Just watch your own butt."

John's brain was losing its fuzz from the crash. "He couldn't know which aircar had the graybox. Why didn't he land?"

"Maybe he dropped somebody off to check us out," said Bast from behind them.

"Who would he trust?" asked Garrus.

"Dunno," she replied. Her face was a mask of pain. "Maybe a security guard we missed?"

John nodded. "We should make sure." He checked his weaponry. As far as guns went, he had one pistol with maybe six shots left, and that was it. He'd given all of his spare thermal clips to Shepard before the vault break-in. "You two wait here. I'll reconnoiter."

"Want my gun?" asked Bast. "Not gonna do me much good right now."

"Keep it," replied John. "Um, just in case." The last thing he wanted to do was leave a fellow operative without any weapon at all.

He slid open the side door to the shuttle and found it half-obscured by piled-up dirt. "I'll comm you the all-clear," said John before he boosted himself up and out of the crashed shuttle. The door slid shut behind him as he turned to survey the situation.

There was a line of smashed trees behind them, showing the path of the shuttle's crash. Around the half-entombed shuttle there were still more trees. They looked like birch, with mostly white bark broken up with black markings. Their leaves were a pale green-gold color that shone brightly in the sunlight that filtered down through the canopy overhead. All in all it was a very nice-looking place...except for the gnawing feeling of something _off_ that ate at John's guts.

He crouched next to the downed shuttle and slipped out his pistol. Six shots left. He risked a peek over the top of the shuttle and saw nothing but more forest. After another quick scan of the area, he figured it was safe enough to try opening a comm channel to Garrus inside the shuttle.

But as he touched his forearm, he saw nothing but a few sparks instead of the holographic display he expected. John stared at the ruined omni-tool in dismay for a moment before some sixth sense made him leap to the side.

A shot _pinged_ off of the shuttle's door, right where he'd been crouching.

"John!" yelled Bast from within the shuttle.

"Stay inside!" shouted John.

A low chuckle emanated from the forest around him. "Yes, you should listen to him, my dear. I'm still going to kill you all, but at least then you'll have some chance."

John knew that voice. He gathered his feet under him and did another scan of what part of the forest he could see. "Leng! Why are you working with Hock? This is a Cerberus op!"

There was a moment of silence, and then Leng's voice sounded again. "I know. I'm just making sure that the operation succeeds while also making equally sure that you die."

John was pretty sure of the direction of Leng's voice. But he needed to get the bastard talking more so that he could get a better fix. "Hock is going to shoot down the other shuttle, you know," he said with a casual air that he did not feel.

"I would say more 'force down' than 'shoot down'," replied Leng. "He wants 'his' graybox intact, after all. Don't worry your pretty little head about it. Hock will die by my hand before he can do any actual damage to those in the other shuttle. After I kill you, of course."

John was now even more certain of Leng's location. He couldn't see anything, but he could certainly hear the blathering asshole. "And what will your boss think?" he asked.

"The Illusive Man will not care as long as Shepard and Kasumi are able to perform their duties. And the only one who knows I've allied with Hock is you, so...I guess that just gives me one more reason to kill you Organization scum-"

John drew his pistol and fired three shots right at Leng's most likely position. He rolled right after doing so and scrambled under the elevated tail of the shuttle. Once he had gained a bit of cover he re-checked his pistol.

Three shots left.

Leng's voice was very amused. "I will admit, you were close. But not quite close enough, I'm afraid."

John aimed at the most likely source of the voice and fired twice more as he backed up along the side of the shuttle towards its nose.

One shot left.

"Again, not bad. But not quite accurate enough."

John took a deep breath. This bastard must have a cloak similar to Kasumi's in order to keep himself so hidden. He had to draw Leng out; his only hope was that Leng was enough of a grandstanding asshole that he'd go for the bait.

With great deliberateness, John held his gun out to one side to make sure Leng could see it, then threw it away with a flick of the wrist. He used the big, obvious movement to obscure the other, smaller movement with his other hand as he plucked something out of his lapel pocket that he'd taken from Hock's vault. He gripped that other object tight in his left hand as Leng's voice sounded out again.

"What's this? No more shots? Such a pity."

John finally decided to speak. "Pity you're not more of a man to show yourself."

A delighted laugh echoed in the trees around them. "Are you really trying such an obvious ploy? I suppose it's all you have left. But never let it be said that I'm unsportsmanlike."

There was a flicker at the other end of the shuttle as Kai Leng shimmered into visibility. He held a pistol of his own. Leng held it out to his side in an exaggerated fashion to show John that there was no clip within it. The Cerberus agent tossed it aside in the same general direction that John had thrown his gun.

Leng had ditched the gray suit he'd worn while confronting John at the party. Now he was dressed in black-and-gray armor that looked oddly flashy to John's eyes. He'd also donned a pair of high-tech sunglasses with white slits where his eyes should be.

"I see you don't have a weapon," said Leng in a hissing tone. He reached behind him and drew a meter-length katana from his back. Leng held the blade in front of him as he moved in a slight crouch towards John. "Too bad for you. At least I got to know your first name before I killed you."

John said nothing.

Leng smiled. "I've got an extra sword. I'll sell it to you for one of those fancy gold coins of yours."

John stood straight like a black-clad scarecrow next to the downed shuttle. Hidden in his left hand was the object he'd taken from Hock's vault. He gave his Smile Number One at the cybernetic ninja bearing down on him.

Smile Number One was the one that said _Your Ass Is Mine_.

"I'm good, thanks," said John Wick as he gripped his purloined pencil tighter.

* * *

Shepard peeked around the edge of the shuttle at the hovering wasp-like shape of the gunship. "I'm open to options, people," he said. They'd put down in a clearing in order to avoid the fate of Garrus' shuttle. The gunship had been right on their ass the whole time, and now hovered over the clearing.

All of them were now using the shuttle as improvised cover. Cammy

Hock's amplified voice boomed out over them. "If you have the graybox, bring it out now. I'm giving you two minutes before I open fire."

Persephone checked her pistol. It was a useless manuever, but she knew it would help calm her. "We've got no heavy weapons. Nothing that will dent that damn thing's armor."

Shepard growled. "This is the last time I go into combat with nothing but a damn pistol." He took another peek. "Okay. I'm the fastest one here, so I'll try to draw that bastard's fire while you all get away."

Mackie's face was set in a furious scowl. "Fuck that. We've got plenty of energy available, we just need to figure out how to deliver it."

Shepard's blue eyes met Mackie's. "You thinking of hotwiring a couple of pistols?"

Mackie nodded as he gave Shepard a puzzled look in return. "How did you know about that?"

"When it comes to blowing shit up, I'm pretty well versed."

"Got it," replied Mackie. Then he shook his head. "But that's only half of what we need. We still can't get near that damn gunship."

"I can do that," said Kasumi.

Mackie gave her a raised eyebrow in response, then shrugged. "Okay, ya beautiful bastards, gimme a couple of pistols."

* * *

Garrus unholstered his pistol while he limped towards the shuttle's door. They'd heard enough of the exchange outside to know that John was in trouble.

"Don't do it," said Bast as he reached for the handle. "Leng would just chuck a grenade in here. John will be okay."

The turian growled. "The spirits you say. He's got no ammunition! How can he have a chance?"

Bast smiled in reply, showing bloody teeth. "Mr. Leng is about to meet Baba Yaga."

* * *

Kai Leng skated closer to the black-clad figure of John 'Winston', or whatever his real name was. The Cerberus operative kept his sword-point aimed at the man's chest. Leng was curious about this lackey. It was clear that John was very high ranking within the Organization, but what was he truly capable of? Leng hoped that this fight would be a sufficient challenge. It would be a pity to find out that the mysterious figure he'd been chasing for so long was nothing more than a common thug.

He feinted a high downward strike at John's head. The man didn't take the bait, and instead barreled forward under Leng's attack so that he could ram his shoulder into Leng's chest. Leng got his other hand down to intercept the knife-strike that was certainly coming...

But there was no such strike. Instead John shoved him back with unexpected force. The man had clearly been given the usual Alliance military upgrades when it came to sheer physical strength. Leng kept hold of his katana, of course, and backpedaled while keeping his sword in front as a warding-off threat.

"Hmm...nice," he said aloud. "You've been trained, that's for sure. That will make this a lot more fun."

John didn't reply. He stood with his fists raised like a boxer.

"Old school, eh?" said Leng. "Okay. I can work with that..."

His next strike was a fast, deadly slash towards the man's right side. Leng knew what would happen next. The man would dodge backwards, giving Leng an opening to cut at the man's legs. Once he'd hamstrung the bastard, John would be helpless...

John didn't dodge.

Instead, he blocked the sword with his right forearm. The monomolecular edge of Leng's katana cut through the cloth of John's suit, then right through the armor underneath. It sliced deep into John's forearm, passing easily through mere flesh and tendon.

But Leng's sword didn't keep cutting, however. The ultra-sharp edge dug into bone with a metallic squeak. The Cerberus operative had time for a moment of confusion. Given his augmented strength, the katana should have sheared through John's arm-bones completely...

John made a quick, efficient strike with his left hand towards Leng's unarmored wrist. There was a quite amazing explosion of pain in that wrist, and Leng gasped as his grip on the katata loosened. John twisted his body to the right with inhuman strength, and the katana stuck deep in his arm went with that twist. Leng felt the handle slip from his hands and saw his weapon go spinning off into the brush.

Leng instinctively held up his left to keep John at bay while reaching behind him for his other sword. There was neat hole punched into his wrist, and he could also see that John held something in his left fist like an ice-pick. Whatever it was dripped red with Leng's blood.

John moved like smoke, flowing around Leng's block as if it wasn't there. He flipped the implement in his hand around as he struck forward towards Leng's throat. Its tip punched into Leng's larynx, and the operative gagged as his right hand fumbled for his sword's handle. He had to act fast before...

John drew his left hand back, leaving the pencil stuck tip-first in Leng's flesh. He hammered his palm forward in a massive blow that punched the pencil right through Kai Leng's throat.

* * *

The gunship's main cannon emitted a rude noise like the world's biggest fart. However, there was nothing funny in the line of plowed earth that suddenly erupted in front of the shuttle. On the other side of the shuttle, Mackie was asking himself for the millionth time how he'd gotten roped into this whole mess.

"Thirty seconds," Hock called out.

Mackie handed a taped-up pair of guns to Kasumi. "Pull one trigger, then the other. Then make sure you get the hell away within twenty seconds. The timing on this thing isn't really exact."

The thief nodded as she handed Mackie the graybox. "Just make sure he doesn't actually get his hands on it."

"We will," said Shepard.

Kasumi nodded her thanks before vanishing into thin air.

"I'm the most armored," said Shepard. "I'll go out as the distraction."

Mackie took a deep breath. Well, if he died in the next few minutes at least he and Nathan had enjoyed a little bit of time together. And if he lived through this he was going to marry that sexy-smart analyst and spoil him rotten.

"Nah, it should be me," said Mackie. "Personal armor or shields aren't gonnna do much against that cannon. And he might shoot you, since you killed a lot of his guards. I'm just some random jabroni."

"I don't like it," said Persephone. "We should just wait for Kasumi."

"Ten seconds!" Hock's amplified voice still sounded surprisingly calm.

Mackie held out the graybox in front of him as he walked around the edge of the shuttle.

"Good," said Hock as he caught sight of Mackie and his offering. "Walk into the center of the clearing, keep both hands on that graybox."

Mackie could just make out the form of Hock behind the tinted canopy of the gunship. The man's face was set in a furious sneer that belied his relatively calm voice.

As the fixer reached the center of the clearing, Hock called out again.

"Stand there. The rest of you come out as well or I'll shoot a missile into the shuttle."

Mackie didn't look behind him as he stood still. He saw Hock's face become calmer; the other must be doing as told.

"This is nice," said Hock. "I have my graybox back _and_ I have Shepard. Maybe you'll be valuable enough to make up for what you've cost me, eh?"

Shepard's voice sounded from behind him. "Fly away now and I'll let you live."

Hock's laugh boomed through the forest. "Really? I have to admire your bravery, if not your common sense..."

The gunship dipped lower. Hock squinted through the canopy. Mackie looked backwards and saw that the others were strung out in a line behind him. Cammy was leaning on Shepard, but her face was just as determined as the others.

Hock's voice got a nasty edge to it. "Well, well. Ms. Murali is also with your little gang? You're unarmored, which means you'll make quite the lovely explosion of blood when I shoot you. What do you say to that, my traitorous asari?"

"Swivel on this, you sadistic prick," replied Persephone as she stuck up her middle finger.

Hock smiled as his finger tightened on the trigger of his control stick...

A nearby tree rustled, and Mackie could just make out a heat-shimmer blur in the air that leaped off of a branch and thumped solidly into the gunship's canopy. The vehicle's nose slewed downward as its main cannon farted out another spray of gunfire. Mackie dove out of the line of fire, and as he tumbled he saw Shepard throw his body in front of Persephone.

Kasumi shimmered back into visibility just long enough to slap a taped-up package onto The vehicle's canopy. She gave a truly evil grin and tossed Donovan Hock an ironic salute before flipping backwards off of the gunship in a smooth, graceful manuever. Mackie lay on the ground, staring up in wonder as Kasumi's lithe and cat-suited form arced over him.

If he had been into girls, this would have been the sexiest damn thing he'd ever seen.

Then he remembered the package and rolled so that he was face-down in the turf with his hands over his head. There was a quite amazingly loud noise when their makeshift bomb went off and turned the cockpit of the gunship into a tangle of metal, glass, and mangled flesh.

That was followed by an even larger noise as Hock's gunship pancaked into the clearing scant feet from Mackie.

He cautiously picked his head up, then felt all down his body. "Okay, okay," he muttered to himself. "Still in one piece." He rolled over and looked behind him.

Cammy was sitting on the ground and holding her injured leg. She'd taken a tumble when Shepard had done his human-shield action. Persephone was hovering over the prone Spectre, and Mackie could see a spreading red stain on the man's side.

* * *

Karin Chakwas sighed as she prodded the wound on Shepard's bare torso. There had been a lot of running about and yelling for a while, but now the _Normandy's_ medbay was finally a place of peace and quiet once again. The only ones left were herself and the injured from the Hock operation.

"Jeez, doc!" gasped Shepard. "Easy, there."

She rolled her eyes. "Honestly. Here you are, a big strong N7 commando and you're acting like such a baby." She tossed her head over at John Wick, who sat nearby with a small smile on his face. The assassin had his right arm completely covered in a sleeve filled with medi-gel and other healing nanomachines. "This one here nearly got his arm cut off. You don't see him complaining, do you?"

"Yeah, and I got shot!" said Cammy from a nearby bed.

Bast said nothing, she just smiled. The operative's arm and neck were covered in a cast, but she looked otherwise healthy.

"Guess a broken foot is small potatoes anymore," added Garrus.

Dr. Chakwas gave them all her best 'Doctor in Charge' glare. "Enough from the peanut gallery." She bent over to examine the long, nasty gash in Shepard's side. "This was a gunship cannon?"

The Spectre grimaced as she began to apply staples to his side. "Yeah. Just a ricochet off of the ground, but it was still enough to go through the suit's armor." He looked over at Wick. "Too bad. I really liked that suit."

Wick shrugged. "I can always get you another one. I owe you a lot. If that round had hit Persephone she'd be dead."

"Ehh, it was nothing," said Shepard casually. "It was my own damn fault for not chasing after Hock back at his compound."

John shook his head. "Not a good idea. Leng was working with him, and he had a cloak similar to Kasumi's. He'd have ambushed us."

Shepard gave another hiss of pain as the last staple went in. Dr. Chakwas applied a thick bandage on his side and patted his shoulder.

"Now just lie there for a while. Baby."

"Harridan," replied Shepard, and the two of them smiled at what was clearly a private joke between them. The Spectre relaxed with a sigh. "Yeah, you're right, Wick. I'm definitely glad that bastard Leng is out of the picture."

Cammy nodded. "You and me both, buddy." She peered at John Wick. "I heard you took him out hand-to-hand."

John nodded.

The turian pilot gave a big and very fanged smile. "Nice. That's a little bit of poetic justice for what he did to Mackie. You use a knife?"

"Pencil."

Everybody else in the medbay stared for a moment at John Wick. The silence was interrupted by the hissing of the medbay door which was quickly followed by the sound of a charging varren as Errol came bounding into the room. He was followed close behind by Gabby.

"I'm so sorry, he wouldn't stay put!" said the engineer. The varren let out a happy roar and bowled John Wick right off of his stool. John let out a pained gasp as the air was driven from his lungs by Errol's weight on top of him. The big varren gave a plaintive 'wirfl?' into John's face. The assassin patted the beast's fanged snout.

"I'm okay, buddy. It'll all be okay now."


	24. We Have Met Upon The Level

The Illusive Man stood and stared out at the roiling, swirling surface of a red giant star. His hands were clasped behind his back as he waited for his expected call. There was a soft 'beep' from his chair, and he looked down to check that his jacket was straight and his cuffs in order. The Cerberus leader turned and strode towards the holographic display connected to the _Normandy's_ Quantum Entanglement Communicator. This was going to take some very fancy verbal footwork on his part, and he calmed himself by remembering that he had at least a hundred years of experience on...

"Shepard!" he called out jovially.

The holographic image of the Spectre gave him a single nod in reply.

"I've received Ms. Lawson's report on the Hock mission. I'm glad for your success. How's your injury?"

Shepard gave a one-shoulder shrug and winced a little as the movement pulled at his side. "Still hurts, but I'm healing fast. Whatever enhancements you guys gave me sure work like gangbusters."

The Illusive Man nodded and kept smiling. "Excellent. And I'm sure Ms. Goto will prove to be a valuable member of your team. Speaking of which...what, exactly, are your plans regarding the _other_ assets you used during the mission?"

"The Organization folks, you mean? I have no plans. They're free to go."

"Hmmm. I see. And what of the graybox? Ms. Lawson's report didn't say what was ultimately done with it."

"Kasumi has the final say on that," said Shepard. He raised one eyebrow. "I hope you won't suggest anything obvious, like handing it over to Cerberus for safekeeping?"

The Illusive Man was, of course, itching to get that graybox into Cerberus hands. But he was not stupid enough to appear eager to do so. Aloud, he said "No, I trust you will keep it protected. It's not in Cerberus interests to have humanity involved in a pointless war."

"Very thoughtful of you. I also hope you don't suggest that I do anything rude with the Organization people...such as killing them."

The Illusive Man shrugged. "I can't say I'm happy about your working with them. You understand that we are in open conflict with the Organization. Still, they did help out with achieving Cerberus goals-"

"My goals, you mean," interrupted Shepard. "My ship, my crew, my mission. You told me that time and again. So frankly, how I achieve that mission is none of your damn business."

"Of course," replied The Illusive Man smoothly. "And as long as they depart right away, I consider the matter settled. Just be aware, having them continually in contact with you could create problems."

"Oh, don't worry. As soon as Dr. Chakwas gives the go-ahead they'll be gone like a shot." Shepard tilted his head. "One last thing. You wouldn't know how Kai Leng wound up crashing the party at Hock's place, would you?"

The Illusive Man didn't let the slightest flicker of unease show on his face. This was the part that would require him to appear the most sincere. "I have not the slightest inkling. Mr. Leng is...er, _was_ a capable operative. Certainly capable enough to track his quarry to Hock's compound by himself. He had been tasked with finding and eliminating certain Organization people who had interfered in Cerberus operations. It appears he let his zeal override his good judgement. It's a pity, he showed such promise. In a way, I'm grateful to you for killing him. It saves me the trouble to have him found and disposed of."

"So he had _no_ official sanction from you to act as he did?"

"Of course not! You're our most valuable asset, Shepard. Why would I risk your mission to perform some routine assassination?"

"Oh, I don't know. Leng was equipped with an optical cloak as good as Kasumi's, and that ain't something you buy off of the street. Maybe he was there to kill some people...and also to steal the graybox from us in all the confusion. Lotta interesting info in there, after all. You'd have all sorts of details on Alliance Intelligence. And lots of juicy blackmail material on Admiral Hackett and his allies."

The Illusive Man did his best to appear bored. "I won't deny the graybox would be of interest. But it's not _that_ important. It would have been criminally stupid of me to risk the amount of money we've spent on you and the _Normandy_." He waved a hand dismissively. "Leng is dead, and it is solely due to his own arrogance. Tell the Organization people that I consider the entire matter settled. Cerberus has more important things to do than get into gunfights with gangsters."

Shepard smiled, but his eyes stayed cold. "I'll pass it along. Anyway, I wanted to let you know that we're off to get the next recruit on your list. Warlord Okeer."

"Good. I know he's had contact with the Collectors in the past, and he should be able to give you some insight into their biotech capabilities. Okeer is apparently quite a brilliant geneticist."

"A krogan scientist," mused Shepard, then shook his head. "Now I've heard everything."

After the hologram faded, The Illusive Man let out a breath. That had gone better than expected. He felt again a spurt of anger at Leng. The man had promised him that he'd retrieve the graybox with no one the wiser. And Leng was practically an N7, how in the name of anything holy had he allowed himself to get killed?

Well, in any case he had several other methods to track the Organization operatives after they left the _Normandy_. And after an appropriate amount of time had passed he'd make sure they felt the wrath of Cerberus. But it would have to be done discreetly. His mind began to work through it as he turned back towards the view of the red giant that dominated the room. Perhaps he could hire some mercenaries, and make it look like a simple robbery gone bad?

* * *

There was a small party taking place in Kasumi's lounge. Due to the number of injured, it was a more subdued affair than it might be otherwise. Shepard was still walking with a hitch in his side, and both Garrus and Cammy were hobbling around with canes. Bast was at the bar and apparently determined to not leave it.

John's arm was still encased in its protective sleeve, and Persephone wasn't allowing him to use the other arm to hold his drink. Instead she sat in his lap and insisted he use his good arm to hold her. The asari daintily held a glass of bourbon to his lips whenever he asked for it.

Kasumi sat on the couch opposite theirs and smiled at the sight. "You two seem pretty well attached," she said. There was a little bit of melancholy in her voice.

Persephone took her own dainty sip of bourbon from the glass. "I guess we are."

"You guess?" asked John with amusement.

Persephone gave him a mock glare. "Fine. How about this? No matter where you go I'll find you."

"I could take that a few different ways," replied John. "What would you do when you found me?"

"Oh, I'd do such horrible things," replied the asari. She leaned over and whispered into John's ear, and Kasumi was amazed to see the assassin actually blush.

The thief laughed as Persephone stood. "I'm getting a refill. Don't move, or I'll hunt you down." The asari sashayed off as Kasumi leaned forward.

"Do you mind if I ask you something?"

John shook his head.

"When you first came on the ship, you mentioned something about love making people do things they wouldn't do normally. Did you have someone like that?" Kasumi motioned with her hood towards Persephone. "Someone before her, I mean."

John leaned forward as well. "Yeah, I did. I lost her. It wasn't anybody's fault, she just...got sick."

Kasumi's shadowed eyes were bright and intent. "I imagine it's hard for someone in your line of work to have a normal relationship."

John nodded.

The thief dropped her eyes to the deck. "It's also hard for me. I never expected to meet someone like Keiji. He knew me, he knew what I did for a living. But he just accepted it. I owe him so much."

"This is about the graybox." John didn't phrase it as a question.

Kasumi looked up, her bright eyes slightly damp. "I can't imagine erasing it. I know I should, it's far too dangerous otherwise. But it's the only bit of him that I have left."

John looked over at Persephone. The asari walked towards them with a newly-full glass. She saw the two of them with their heads together and detoured away to chat with Shepard. He smiled at how quick Persephone was and turned back to Kasumi.

"A lot has happened to me since Helen died. Not all of it was nice. But the universe has a way of surprising you. Here and now, I have somebody to care for. I'd never thought I'd have that again. But I know that Helen would be glad to see me happy." He looked up, his dark eyes boring into hers. "Just as I know that Keiji would want nothing more than to see _you_ happy."

He leaned back and stood, then walked away without another word.

Kasumi sat and pondered for a bit, then stood as well. She strolled over to Shepard, who was now looking out the lounge's viewport. John and Persephone were off in one corner of the lounge and making out like a couple of teenagers.

"I want to delete it," she said in a low voice.

Shepard nodded. "Are you sure?"

Kasumi looked down and sniffled. "Yes. All I ask is...he must have left a message to me in there. I just want to look for it before...you know."

A taloned hand settled on her shoulder and gave a comforting squeeze. "Are you okay?"

She looked around and up into Garrus' worried blue eyes. She patted the turian's hand. The small pieces of his armor plating were hard under her fingers as she did so.

"I'm good." Kasumi's eyes got a wicked glint in them. "We monkey-girls are tough. Do you mind if I ask you to join Shepard and I? There's a little message I need to listen to." She looked over and saw Nathan leaning against the wall and chatting with Mackie. "Him too."

* * *

The thief stood in the _Normandy's_ shuttle bay as the images formed in front of her. She knew that the people behind her would see it as just images floating in mid-air. But for her those images held additional sensation. She could smell Keiji, she could almost feel his body heat as he floated in front of her and spoke. His gaunt face was creased in an atypical frown as he stared at her.

"Kasumi. If you're seeing this, it's because I'm dead. The information I found is all here, in my graybox. It's big, Kasumi. If the Council ever got wind of this...the Alliance could be in big trouble."

Keiji's avatar dropped his gaze, as if he was ashamed. "Kasumi, I...I encrypted the information to keep it safe. And I uploaded the encryption key to your graybox, so no one could get the whole package. But if I'm dead, and if anyone knows about this...then I've made you a target, my love. I'm so, so sorry."

Kasumi felt tears start in her eyes again. She kept staring at Keiji's avatar as she spoke. "It's okay, Keiji-kun. I would never betray you. I can stay off of the grid. Nobody ever needs to know what I know."

Keiji's image smiled and gave her a wink. "Oh, I know you, you little minx. You'll want to keep these memories forever. But you don't need some neural implant to know I'll always be with you. Please, Kasumi. Destroy these files. That's the best way to protect you."

Kasumi bit her lip. "I...I can't do that! This is all that's left! This is all I have left of you..."

It was only a trick of the graybox, she knew that, but suddenly Kasumi was overwhelmed by the memory of the last time that she and Keiji made love. The vision of their two supple bodies entwining was foremost in her mind as she reached out to touch the face of the only person she could ever call 'hers'.

"Keiji...I can't do it!"

His own narrow face was composed and held a slight smile. "Goodbye, Kasumi. Know that I've always loved you."

The onslaught of memories faded, and Kasumi gradually realized that she was now kneeling on the hangar deck.

Nathan cleared his throat diplomatically. "Ah, yes. Is there a way we could just destroy the information? It would be more...appropriate to leave the memories themselves intact."

The thief stood. Her legs were jelly, but at least her knees weren't knocking together. "No. Keiji was a master at encrypting files. He laced the information into his memories. You can't get one without experiencing the other."

Shepard spoke up. "You've got to let go of him eventually, Kasumi."

She didn't look back at any of them. "I know, it's just...it feels like I'm losing him. All over again." Kasumi thought about John Wick, and the losses he'd experienced. His words to her kept echoing in her head.

 _The universe has a way of surprising you._

Maybe he was right. Maybe there was somebody else out there she could have a real relationship with. Kasumi nodded and squared her shoulders a bit. "Yes. Yes, we should delete this. It's the best solution all around." Before she could stop and question herself, Kasumi leaned forward into the display to access other portions of Keiji's graybox. The portions related to deletion.

* * *

Shepard looked around the lobby of the Bekenstein Continental with trepidation. "Why are we here again?"

John Wick led the reluctant Spectre through the quiet expanse. "Just a little bit of housekeeping." He smiled at the dark-skinned human behind the counter. "Hi. I believe we're expected?"

The concierge gave a wide smile. "That you are, sir. Second door on the right."

Wick stalked off with purpose through the hall behind the front desk. Shepard figured he should go ahead and follow him. The dark-suited assassin opened the indicated door without knocking and stepped through. Shepard gave a final scan of the hallway behind them and followed.

Inside was a standard hotel room, with the usual ornate but bland furnishings and the usual uninspired artwork. What wasn't usual was the old woman seated in a chair next to the window. She had an olive-colored complexion and a silvery prosthetic eye. Next to her was a truly huge bastard dressed in a dark suit like John Wick's. The big guy also had a messenger bag slung over one shoulder. He smiled at Shepard in an amiable fashion, but the Spectre got ready to boogie out of there.

"John!" said the old woman. She pushed herself upright with a grunt of effort, using a cane she carried in one hand. She gave Wick a one-handed hug, then smiled at Shepard. "And another John as well. It's a pleasure to meet you, dear." In lieu of a hug, she extended her free hand.

Shepard shook her hand carefully. "Yeah, hi. It's a pleasure, Miz...?"

"Mrs., actually," said the woman. "Mrs. Carmichael. I was involved with the whole business with Admiral Hackett and this sourpuss." She nodded her head towards Wick, then smiled. "You don't mind if I sit? My joints aren't what they used to be."

The Spectre gave a brittle smile. "Sure, go ahead. Not to pry, but why are you here?"

Mrs. Carmichael sighed as she seated herself. "Well, for starters I have to give this sourpuss his payment, along with the rest of his crew. I know what you're thinking, that could have been done through means that didn't involve me hauling my bony ass around the galaxy."

Shepard laughed. "I wasn't going to be quite that uncouth, but yeah, I'm kinda wondering why you're here."

She looked behind her at the huge man in the corner of the room. "Jackson? If you please."

Jackson opened the flap on the messenger bag and reached into it. Shepard made ready to launch himself to the side if need be. But instead of a weapon, Jackson pulled out a book.

A very _big_ book.

It was bound in leather, and a good three inches thick. Jackson handled the object reverently as he stepped next to Mrs. Carmichael. She looked up at John Wick with a very fixed expression.

"Are you sure you want to do this, John?"

Wick nodded. "I do."

Mrs. Carmichael sighed. "Okay, then." She nodded at Jackson, who reached into his messenger bag once more and produced a pen. He handed the pen to John Wick, who took it with a deep ceremonial bow. The big man then flipped the book open to a particular point indicated by a silk bookmark. The book was a ledger of some sort. Shepard saw many lines of names, separated into pairs. The Spectre leaned forward in interest, and saw that the pages were not paper, but some sort of parchment. Judging by the stains around the edges of the book, this was an object that was centuries old.

Mrs. Carmichael's voice lost its jovial tone. "Mr. Wick. Do you accept this obligation?"

John Wick nodded. "I do."

"Very well. Sign it."

The assassin leaned forward and scrawled his signature on the next blank line on the opened page.

"And so it is witnessed, and so it is signed," said Mrs. Carmichael. Her voice sounded as if she was reciting a magic incantation. "Now for the pledge of blood."

Jackson held the ledger in one hand, while with his other he reached into his bag and produced a flat sliver object that looked like an ornate makeup compact. Jackson handed it to Wick with a little ceremonial bow.

Shepard raised an eyebrow. "Pledge o _f blood_? Maybe you guys should clue me in on..."

As he talked, John Wick pressed a button on the 'compact's' edge. It flipped open, revealing a central portion of two white semicircular halves separated by a metal ridge. A thin metal pin poked up from the edge of the object at the same time. Wick slowly drew his thumb along the pin, then pressed it against one half of the compact's interior. He slashed his thumb again, then leaned forward and pressed another bloody thumbprint next to his signature in the ledger.

Jackson nodded reverently and shut the ledger with a snap, He stowed the massive tome back in his messenger bag, then folded his hands and waited patiently.

John Wick snapped the 'compact' shut with a click. The pin he'd used to injure his thumb retracted back into the object's body at the same time. He turned and extended the 'compact' to Shepard.

"For you," he said simply.

Shepard didn't take it. He looked steadily at Mrs. Carmichael. "Maybe you should tell me what this is before I accept it."

"It's an obligation," said Mrs. Carmichael. "John Wick has decided that he owes you a favor. A very large favor." She nodded towards the silver disc in John Wick's hand. "That is a marker. A witness to the fact that he owes you a very great debt. One that can be repaid at any time that you see fit."

Shepard peered at the assassin. He'd never realized how dark the man's eyes were. "Why?" he whispered.

"Persephone," replied Wick. He gave a half-smile. "You took a bullet for her. I don't know if I could have handled losing her on top of everything else."

Shepard took a deep breath, then exhaled slowly. "Fine. Are you a man of honor, Mr. Wick?"

The hard look in John Wick's eyes faltered a bit as he nodded.

"I am too. And so this doesn't matter. Hey, um, Jackson? Get that book out again."

The big man looked a little surprised, but did as instructed. Shepard snatched the marker from Wick's hand and snapped it open. He carefully slashed his thumb and pressed it into the other half of the marker's inside. Then he repeated the slashing and pressed his thumb below John Wick's signature. He signed next to his bloody thumbprint with a scrawl and handed the pen back to Jackson before turning to John Wick.

"Not like this," he said to the surprised assassin. "The marker is now paid. But if you really feel like you owe me something, then you owe it. That feeling doesn't rely on magic rituals or Masonic crap. I've just freed you of any _official_ obligation. But you know what I'm fighting, right?"

John Wick nodded without speaking.

"Good." Shepard waved a hand at the Continental in general. "Then you know why none of this matters. If I ever ask you to come running, then I expect you to show up no questions asked. Is that clear?"

John Wick gave a full smile. "Very clear...Commander."


	25. And We Part Upon The Square

Mackie and Nathan were back in their combined cabin on board the _Helen_. The small space was filled with the faint rumble of the ship's engines as they headed out from Bekenstein. The pair lay embracing each other on the small bed that barely fit into the cabin. Nathan sighed as he buried his nose in Mackie's hair.

"I saw the vid from when Hock forced you down. You took way too big of a chance walking out there."

The blonde rubbed his own nose in the crook of Nathan's neck. "Maybe. But I'm here now, and I'm not going anywhere."

He was surprised to hear Nathan sniffle. It was the first real expression of sadness he'd ever heard from the guy. "You say that now."

"Hey, what's with all that?" Mackie looked up at Nathan. "I ain't some love 'em and leave 'em type. Well, at least I'm not one anymore. You've got me as long as you want me. And now we're both rich."

Nathan shrugged. "I got a coded message from Hackett. It appears I can get my old job back at Synthetic Insights. The official story is that I went off on sabbatical to, heh, rest and recharge."

"Oh. Is that what you want?"

The analyst nodded. "It's not the money. I need the mental challenge. I'm so sorry, Mackie."

Mackie smiled and patted Nathan's chest. "Why are you sorry? I always wanted to see London."

"You...you'd be willing to come along?"

"Why not?"

Nathan picked up his head to stare down at Mackie. "It's...I mean, Barcelona and all of this was very much an outlier. I really am _just_ an analyst. My life's not going to be exciting at all. I fear it will be quite dull for you."

Mackie reached up and traced a fingertip along the scars on his face. "I think I've had my fill of excitement for one life. And besides, it's not like we're heading into some town in the middle of nowhere. I'm sure I can keep busy in a place like London."

Nathan arched an eyebrow. "Busy?"

"No funny stuff, I promise. I'm gonna be Mr. Clean from now on. C'mon, it'll be fun. We'll get an apartment, I can cook for you, and after a long day in the data mines you can come home to me wearing a frilly apron and nothing else."

Nathan laughed. "I admit, that does sound nice." He gasped as Mackie gave a salacious grin and slid his hand lower.

* * *

Gabby sat in the wardroom of the _Helen_ with Errol's head in her lap. The big varren's eyes were closed in bliss as she absently stroked the animal's bullet-like head. She didn't look up as Camicia strolled into the wardroom and set a ration pouch into one of the wall-mounted heaters. The turian sighed and sat on the other side of the table.

"We should hit the next relay in an hour." Cammy gave a little honking chuckle. "It feels kinda weird to not have anybody shooting at us."

Gabby didn't respond. She stared at the table and kept stroking Errol's head.

"What's with the long face?" asked the turian.

The engineer sighed. "The job is over. I've got a bank account full enough to keep the wolf from my door for several lifetimes. But now I'm trying to figure out what to do with the rest of my life."

Cammy shrugged. "I thought you'd just go back into the Alliance Navy."

Gabby chuckled, and there was a little edge of sadness in that laugh. "Yeah, that's not gonna happen. My resignation letter was pretty final." She looked up at Cammy. "What are you going to do?"

The turian gestured to the ship around them. "Well, Mr. Wick is the official owner of this ship. But it seems like he and Persephone are determined to retire to some beautiful planet somewhere. They'll probably be going at it like a pair of teenage varren for a while, based on what they've done since we got paid. So the _Helen_ probably won't see much use, which means I'm gonna be sitting around twiddling my thumbs. No thank you. I'll probably go back into work-for-hire like before."

"You definitely don't need the money, " said Gabby. "And I thought you hated excitement."

"Yeah, but I hate boredom even more."

The engineer looked away. "Hackett sent me a message. Apparently the turian-human design team that made the original _Normandy_ is moving on to larger ships. They're trying to make a dreadnought with stealth capability. And they're always looking for new engineers."

"Well, there you go! Why all the moping?"

Gabby gave the pilot an embarrassed look. "It's just that I don't know anyone there. I hate going into situations where I'm the stranger."

"You did pretty well fitting in here."

"This was a one-time job. But Hackett's offer is more permanent. What if I hate it?" She drummed the fingers of her free hand on the table. "It would be better if I had a friend or two there. And that design team also needs test pilots."

Cammy raised one mandible in a questioning manner. "Ah. Are you asking what I think you're asking?"

Gabby shrugged. "I know, it's probably too boring for you, but I just thought..."

"Nah, I'll do it. Sounds like fun. Where's the gig?"

* * *

The man in the gray suit slapped a pair of photos onto the desk. "These two."

Keno Ellins, the chief of the Benning chapter of the Blue Suns, leaned forward and looked the two images over with a critical eye. He was an older man with short, iron-gray hair. He raised and eyebrow at the Cerberus agent who stood over him. The guy's name was Fulcher, and the only reason Keno had allowed him into his office was the mighty stack of credits he'd come bearing.

"What'd they do to piss off The Illusive Man?" Keno asked.

"That doesn't concern you. Cerberus wants them dead. It has to be done so that no one will trace it to you or I. We will pay handsomely."

"How handsomely?"

Fulcher named a figure, and the older mercenary leaned back in his chair in shock. "Okay, you have my attention. Why so generous?"

"Because it won't be an easy job. The asari is an ex-commando, and the human is an assassin of considerable skill."

"Well, I appreciate your honesty." Keno leaned forward again and looked at the two pictures. "But I gotta run this one by my people."

The Cerberus agent stared at Keno in curiosity. "Why? Surely the money is more than enough."

"The money ain't the fuckin' problem." Keno plucked the photo of the man off of the table. It showed a gaunt man with black hair and an equally black, neatly-trimmed beard. "This guy? He's the fuckin' problem. Follow me."

He stood abruptly, causing the Cerberus agent to step back a little in surprise. Keno scooped the other photo off of the desk as well and walked out into the corridor without another word. After a bit of hesitation, the Cerberus agent decided it was pointless to hang around. He followed the mercenary out into a hallway lined with cheap wood paneling. The Blue Suns didn't spend their money on having a nice dwelling; they were more concerned with the quality of things at the sharp end, things like weapons and armor.

Keno didn't look back as he strode down the hallway and then made a sudden stop. He knocked briefly at the door next to him before heading inside. The agent had to jog to catch up.

The room beyond was paneled in the same cheap veneer and also definitely meant for recreation. There was a pool table in one corner, around which a few mercenaries stood and traded shots along with catcalls and obscenities. Near the opposite wall was a card table surrounded by other mercenaries. One of them threw her cards in disgust on the table as Fulcher entered, and her action caused a string of further jeers and foul language from everyone in the room.

"Listen up, people," said Keno with a quiet authority. Somehow his voice was able to cut through the general ruckus in the room.

Those in the room instantly quieted and turned to face their leader.

Keno gave them a grim smile. "We gotta possible job. It's a big payday, and it would put a nice fat bonus in all of your accounts."

The woman who'd just lost at poker stood. "We're always up for a job, boss. You know that. What's the hold up?"

Keno held up the two photos so that those in the room could see them. "Because the job is for these two. They need to die."

One of the other poker players rose. He was a huge man with shoulders that would have done Atlas proud, but his face was troubled as he regarded the images. "Can I get a closer gander at 'em, boss?"

Keno nodded and handed the two photos to the huge man. The mercenary took a long look at them while the woman peered around his arm. He turned the pictures so that she could see them as well. The two mercenaries regarded the photos in silence for a couple of minutes, then they looked at each other. She shook her head, and he nodded in agreement.

The huge man straightened up and handed the photos back to Keno. "No can do, boss."

Keno nodded as he took the pictures back. He didn't look angry, just resigned. "Yeah, I thought as much."

The Cerberus agent felt like he had to say _something_. "Come on! This is ridiculous!" He waved his hands at the roomful of clearly dangerous people. "We're only talking about two people!"

"The asari would be bad enough," said the huge mercenary. "But the guy in black? He ain't human. I heard he took out Jax and his boys on the Citadel with only a fuckin' knife."

The woman now spoke up. "I have some contacts who can access the Spectre information network. He's the one who killed an Ardat-Yakshi while he was tied to a chair. Bit her damn throat out."

One of the pool players also spoke up. "Aw fuck, is it _that_ guy? I heard he took out an N7 with his bare hands." He shook his head. "No way you can pay me enough to mess with that world of pain."

Keno turned to the Cerberus agent and shrugged. "Ya see? Sorry, my man. You want 'em gone, you gotta take 'em out yourself." He handed the photos back to Fulcher.

* * *

Fulcher was a man on a mission. He'd told The Illusive Man that he'd kill those two, and that was what he was going to do. He snorted silently at the memory of the superstitious mercenaries he'd tried to recruit a few months ago. It had taken awhile, but he now had resources of his own, trained Cerberus operatives who wouldn't flinch at the first hint of danger. And those people should certainly be capable enough to take care of his targets.

He lay on his stomach among the scrub grass and sand while he peered through binoculars at the distant house. It was a single-story affair that overlooked one of Benning's many oceans. The house was flat-roofed and cantilevered out over a steep hillside. It was all glass and metal and clearly very damn expensive, but with a low-key kind of luxury. Fulcher did another scan and saw some movement through the front windows.

"Stay frosty, people," he murmured into his comm. "They're coming out."

His comm crackled in his ear. "Looks like another evening on the town," said the other spotter. The woman was about a hundred yards to his left and also scanning the house with her own optics.

Fulcher's grip tightened on his binoculars as the front door to the house slid open. Two figures emerged, a petite asari in a red dress a tall man in a dark blue suit. The man turned back to give the varren in the doorway a few vigorous pats. The beast trotted off back inside as the door slid closed and the pair headed for their aircar parked out front.

"The guy's got guts, I'll give him that," said the spotter. "I'd be too damn worried about losing my hand to pet a varren."

"They can actually be pretty chill if you treat 'em right," said one of the other operatives.

"Keep the channel clear," said Fulcher subvocally. "Tracking team, you're up."

"On 'em," came the drawling reply.

The aircar slid away from the house with a faint whirr. It rose and made a beeline for the nearby town.

"I've got five credits that says they're goin' to Rossini's again," said the spotter.

"You're on," said the voice of the 'varren expert'.

Fulcher sighed. He nearly snapped out another command to keep the channel clear, but decided that a little back-and-forth banter wouldn't hurt. He wriggled himself back away from the house, and once he was a good distance away he stood and touched his ear.

"Okay, people. This is it. Stay sharp and do it by the numbers."

He ran in a crouch towards his own aircar. The other spotter was already in the pilot's seat and warming up the craft. They lifted off just as his door closed.

The voice of the tracking team leader sounded in the aircar's cockpit. "They're heading into the town center."

The spotter grinned as she took the aircar in a wide arc out over the ocean. "Told ya."

"Now, now," said the voice of the 'varren expert'. "There's three restaurants downtown. Let's wait and see..."

The comm crackled as the tracking team leader interrupted. "They're goin' to Rossini's. Looks like you lost five credits, dude."

"I expect prompt payment," said the spotter.

"All right, enough verbal grab-ass," said Fulcher. "Tracking team, what are they doing?"

"Getting seated," came the reply. "They're at their usual table towards the back. Might get a chance at a clean shot through the front windows, but it would be tricky."

Using a sniper would have been Fulcher's preferred method of execution. But that would definitely smell of an assassination and would re-trigger a costly war between Cerberus and the Organization. No, this had to look like a couple of random deaths from a robbery gone wrong.

Fulcher switched his comm to another channel. "Entrance team, are you in position?"

"Yep, we're all locked and loaded. Just give the word."

"Hold position and wait for my signal. I still need to get there." Fulcher's aircar swooped towards the town from a vector different than that used by his quarry. The only way he was going to report success to The Illusive Man was to see their deaths with his own eyes.

"You want the parking garage post?" asked the spotter.

"Yes. Drop me off and get to your own vantage point. Make sure your rifle's camera is recording."

"Will do." The aircar hovered over the top of the parking garage as Fulcher opened his door and hopped out. He landed with a thud as the aircar curved away in a graceful arc. Fulcher jogged to the edge of the concrete expanse, making sure to keep low. Once he was pressed against the cement wall at the edge, he peeked over it. After a quick scan, he pulled out his binoculars. He made sure to shield the optics with his hands; it wouldn't do to have a glint from the setting sun give away his position.

He could just make out the two targets. They were seated in the rear of the restaurant and already had an opened bottle of wine sitting between them. The pair chatted with each other as they scanned the menus.

The spotter's voice sounded in his ear. "In place, boss. Got a good bead on 'em."

"Do not fire unless I give the word, understood? Tracking team, are you in position?"

"Yep."

"Entrance team, are you ready?"

"Ready to rock, boss."

Fulcher took a deep breath to calm himself before giving the go-signal. And at that exact moment the red-clad asari set her menu down and stood. She leaned over to give the tall man a kiss before heading off.

The tracking team leader's voice sounded out. "Shit. The asari is moving. Looks like she's headed for the bathroom. You want us to follow?"

"No. Stay with the man. He's the more dangerous one. Entrance team, hold position. We'll wait for her to return. Everyone, keep the channel clear. Sing out only if you see something."

There were various assents over the comm, then all fell silent as the time stretched out.

The cement dug into Fulcher's elbows as he waited impatiently. His nerves were jangled; they'd spent weeks tracking these two and learning their patterns, which was followed by another two weeks planning this hit. He took a deep breath and told himself to relax, then checked the time. It had been at least five minutes since she'd left. But he had no idea how long it took an asari to powder her nose.

The tall man inside the restaurant didn't seem fazed by his companion's absence. A waiter stopped by the table and chatted a bit. It was clear that the pair were regulars at this place. That was good; it would make their deaths look like simple bad luck.

He checked the time again. Ten minutes since she'd left. Okay, time to change plans a little. "Tracking team, move to the rear of the restaurant and check on her."

There was no reply. The first bit of chilly fear traced down Fulcher's neck. "Tracking team, report in."

No reply. Shit. Well, he'd have to settle for killing one of them. "Entrance team, go go go."

His comm stayed stubbornly silent, and no masked figures approached the restaurant's door. That cold fear was now all down his back. "Sniper, take the shot. Repeat, take the shot."

As he feared, he heard nothing. Fulcher peered through the binoculars, gripping them tightly with hands that were now very sweaty. The dark-haired man's head didn't explode in a cloud of blood. Instead, he set his menu down and looked right at Fulcher. He gave a little smile and a nod.

Fulcher jerked back from the edge and fumbled out his own pistol. He turned in a crouch and scanned the swath of concrete in front of him. There were no other cars on the roof, nowhere to hide. He didn't waste time in yelling threats or posturing. He had to get to the ramp and get down inside. Once he had some cover, he could try calling for backup.

He scuttled towards the down-ramp with his head on a swivel. There was nothing visible. He kept his pistol trained in front of him as he all but ran down the ramp and made sure to sweep around looking for anyone hiding behind it. There was nobody in sight. But there was a nice big ground van in one corner of this garage level, and he ran for it.

As he approached the van he caught a glimpse of red between the wheels of its undercarriage. Fulcher slowed his approach as he reached the van's bumper. He raised his pistol and quick as he could spun around the van's corner and pointed his weapon at the asari crouched behind the vehicle. Before he could fire the weapon was torn from his hand by a blue glow. The asari held up a hand and his gun settled into her palm with casual ease. He began to backpedal with his hands up as she stalked forward with a small smile on her face.

She gave his gun a casual glance and then looked up again. "No serial numbers, I bet. Completely untraceable." With nimble fingers she began to dissassemble the gun, throwing bits of it off into the dark of the parking garage as she kept walking forward. "Same as the guns on those other halfwits. Does that sound about right, Mr. Cerberus?"

Fulcher didn't bother denying anything. He knew he was a dead man. "My team?"

"All dead. Consider it my fine for interrupting our meal." She tossed the last bit of his gun into the dark, then pulled out an elegant little pistol of her own.

Fulcher dropped his hands. He knew it was pointless to run. "Just make it quick."

The asari laughed. "Oh, you're staying alive. You need to carry a message to The Illusive Man. John and I are retired. We're out of the game. However, if you keep fucking around like this then we will be very much back _in_ the game. And his ass will be first on our list. Be sure you tell him that...once you get out of the hospital."

She dropped the pistol's muzzle and with two precise shots blew out Fulcher's knees. He dropped to the concrete with a thud, the sudden and immense pain seizing his throat and preventing him from screaming. Without looking back the asari spun on her heels. Her red dress swirled around her legs as she walked away.

* * *

John looked up as Persephone came back to the table. "Everything go okay?"

The asari seated herself with an arched eyebrow. "Of course."

He nodded and poured her a little bit more wine. "How many?"

"Eight, not including the head boy. I think they were trying to make it look like a robbery." She picked up her glass and took a sip. "I already called in the dinner reservations for 'em."

"Thanks. You pass along our message?"

"I did. I just want this to be the end of it. I'd hate to have to leave Benning. I like watching the waves in the morning."

John smiled. "I like watching you watch the waves."

He felt her foot rub against his shin. "I bet you do. Seriously, though, do you think they'll get the hint?"

John shrugged. "Cerberus will know after this that the risk versus reward is too high. They're not stupid. They'll stop throwing good money after bad."

"I hope you're right. Errol is finally settling down. Having to travel will just get him all riled up again."

"So you're okay with having him around?" asked John.

"He's...grown on me. I have to admit, he is kinda cute." She winked at him. "Not as cute as you, though."

John Wick gave a small laugh as he picked up his menu. "So what are you thinking? I was gonna try the fish."

* * *

 _The End (for now). Thanks to everyone for the support!_


End file.
